The Fate of Henry of Navarre 



HISTORICAL ROMANCES 

BY 

THE SAME AUTHOR. 

—^/\/\/\/v— 

THE SWORD OF GIDEON. 
THE LAND OF BONDAGE. 
THE HISPANIOI.A PIRATE. 
THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
DENOUNCED. 
THE CLASH OF ARMS. 
A GENTLEMAN ADVENTURER. 
ACROSS THE SALT SEAS. 
SERVANTS OF SIN. 
FORTUNE'S MY FOE. 
THE SCOURGE OF GOD. 
THE YEAR ONE. 
THE FATE OF VALSEC. 
TRAITOR AND TRUE. 
KNIGHTHOOD'S FLOWER. 
A WOMAN FROM THE SEA. 
THE LAST OF HER RACE. 
WITHIN FOUR WALLS (dealing with 
La Comans and her Denunciations). 
THE KING'S MIGNON. 
A FAIR MARTYR. 




mw^ Tw. 






The Fate of 
Henry of Navarre 



A TRUE ACCOUNT OP HOW HE WAS SLAIN 

WITH A DESCRIPTION OP THE PARIS OF THE TIME 

AND SOME OP THE LEADING PERSONAGES 



BY 

John Bloundelle-Burton 



Tout estoit permis en ae temps, hors de bien dire et de bien faire " 

—L'ESTOILE 



NEW YORK: 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 

ACAXI. 




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(SURREY 






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CONTENTS 

CHAP. PAGE 

Introductory Chapter ..... i 

I. — "The King and his Capital" .... 21 

II. — The Queen and her Surroundings ... 80 

III. — Sully and the death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 109 

IV. — Traitor and Favourite — Le Due d'Epernon 

AND Henriette, Marquise de Verneuil . 159 

V. — The Crime 193 

VI. — The Exposition . . . . . . . 283 

Conclusion 309 

Index 341 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



Henri IV. 

The Louvre, after restoration by Francis I. 

Map of Paris in i6io .... 

The Tour de Nesle (Period Henri IV.) . 

The Church of Les Innocents, showing 
the open graveyard called the Cemetery 
of Les Innocents ..... 

La Samaritaine, as it appeared before 
the French Revolution .... 

Marie de Medici 

Sully 

Gabrielle d'Estrees (Duchesse de Beaufort) 

Queen Elizabeth (Artist unknown. En- 
graved by Vertue) .... 

Charles I. (by Vandyke) . 

Le Due d'Epernon .... 

Henriette de Balzac d'Entragues (Mar- 
quise de Verneuil) .... 

Bassompierre 

Ravaillac . . . . 

Voiture dans laquelle fut assassine 
Henri IV. en i6io 

Carrosse de i6io a 1660 

The Conciergerie and the Tour d'Hor- 
LOGE in 1 8th Century . 

The Dauphin (Louis XIII.) 



. Frontispiece 
Facing page 21 

40 



55 

69 

80 

109 

133 

148 
155 
159 

186 
218 
229 

243 
243 

302 
335 



THE 
FATE OF HENRY OF NAVARRE 

INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER 

'T^HE true history of the murder of Henri Quatre 
has never been told in the literature of this 
country, and only hinted at, though broadly so, in 
France. Moreover, outside the shelves of the Biblio- 
theque Nationale, and those of the Libraries of Orleans 
and Tours, there is scarcely any account to be found 
of the extraordinary fact that, at the moment of the 
King's assassination, there were two attempts in 
preparation, and that, while the actual deed was being 
perpetrated by Ravaillac, other assassins were in 
waiting to commit it and, as I hope to show beyond 
dispute, were doing so in the immediate neighbourhood 
of where it occurred, and in the same street. 

That the female sex played a strong part in the 
attempts on the most popular King that had ever before, 
or has ever since, sat upon the throne of France, is 
certain ; and he who, perhaps, had been the lover of 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

more women than any other monarch, was supposed — 
though only supposed — to have fallen at last by their 
machinations, or, rather, by the machinations of one 
of them. 

" Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turn'd, 
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorn' d ; " 

and when, to such fury, has to be added the fact that 
Henri had, with a jest accompanied by laughter, em- 
braced the Romish Church as a necessity for obtain- 
ing the crown, and that, in that Church, no one believed 
in the sincerity of his apostacy, it may easily be under- 
stood in what danger his life always stood. Discarded 
mistresses are, probably, the most striking exponents 
of Congreve's lines, and there were many of these ladies 
in Paris who were bitterly disposed towards the King 
at the time of the murder. Among them there was, 
however, one whose heart was, perhaps, more deeply 
ulcerated by Henri's conduct than that of any other 
woman. This person was Henriette d'Entragues, who 
had been created Marquise de Verneuil at the time she 
was favourite, and who had borne to Henri a son who 
became, first. Bishop of Metz shortly after he was 
christened, and, afterwards. Due de Verneuil ; and a 
daughter who became the wife of the second Due 
d'Epernon. She, too, like Gabrielle d'Estrees, of whom 
we shall hear, had had her foot on the steps of the 



Introductory Chapter 

throne ; but, unlike Gabrielle, it was not sudden death 
— a strongly suspicious death ! — that deprived her of 
the great chance, but the necessity for Henri to find 
a wife who could bring a large dowry with her. This 
compulsion might, in the case of some women, have 
been accepted as a pardonable excuse for their lover's 
defection, but with her — haughty, of good family, and 
deeming herself the equal of any woman in Europe 
who was not a king's daughter — it was not so. Instead, 
her blood turned to gall, since she considered that Henri 
should have been content to remain an impoverished 
King rather than fail to accord her the same rights that 
he had once been about to confer on her predecessor. 
Consequently, from the time that Marie de Medici 
arrived in France the Marquise was well acquainted 
with, if she did not take an active part in, some of the 
later plots laid against the King's life. 

They were, indeed, numerous ; the generally accepted 
number of the attempts being eighteen, exclusive of 
the one which succeeded. They emanated from all 
classes ; from the aristocratic leaders of " The League," 
which was still alive though weak, to such base-born 
and foul assassins — 'When they were not fanatics — as 
Jean Chatel, who was a draper's shopman ; the Dutch- 
man, Arger ; and the ItaUan, Ridicovi — both Domini- 
cans or Jacobins ; the Vicar of St. Nicolas-des-Champs ; 

3 I* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Jean Delisle, who was undoubtedly a lunatic, and 
many others, until, finally, Ravaillac, a provincial of 
humble origin, accomplished the deed while unconcerned 
with any plot whatever. 

But what was, probably, the strangest thing in these 
attempts at murder is the fact that the whole of Paris, 
if not of France, knew that they were in the air, and 
no one knew it better than the intended victim himself 
though he was often unaware from what direction the ' 
blow would be struck. Moreover, his life had been too 
frequently risked in battle day by day — at the period ; 
when he was endeavouring to secure the throne that was ; 
his by right after the assassination of Henri III., and 
to which he had been named as the rightful heir of that 
king, if he died childless, by Charles IX. and his brother 
— for him to pay much heed to such attempts. He 
talked about these plots openly ; he regretted that they 
should be conceived against him ; he frequently stated 
that he would surely die at the hands of an assassin, 
but, except at the last, when he sought the shelter of 
Sully's official residence — the Arsenal — he took but few 
precautions against them. 

As for the certainty that Henri would eventually be 
assassinated, it permeated the whole of the capital, 
and the prognostications on the subject were unceasing. 
A species of soothsayer, once a tutor of Sully, called 

4 



Introductory Chapter 

La Brosse gave, it is said — not by the gift of prophecy, 
but partly from knowledge of the intended plots which 
Ravaillac was to anticipate picked up in the lowest 
haunts of the capital, and partly by chance — the actual 
day, namely, the fatal 14th of May, on which the 
King was to die. Earlier, in 1607, several almanacks 
sold at the great fair at Frankfort predicted that Henri 
would perish in his fifty-eighth year, namely 1610, 
and that he would do so at the hands of his own friends 
and courtiers. Specimens of these almanacks are still 
in existence. In 1609, the year preceding the actual 
year of death, a Spanish Professor of Theology named 
Oliva, or Olive, in a book dedicated to the King of 
Spain, affirmed that Henri would die within twelve 
months ; and a religious enthusiast, a supposed 
devineresse, termed La Mere Dasithee, on being consulted 
by the upstart Italian adventurer, Concino Concini 
(whose future wife, Leonora Galigai, ruled the Queen), 
stated in the early months of 1610 that, if Her Majesty 
desired so much to be crowned — which ceremony had 
been long delayed — as was reported, it would be best 
for her to lose no time. The Due de Vendome, Henri's 
son by Gabrielle d'Estrees, hearing of the prediction of 
La Brosse, instantly informed the King of it — but the 
latter made light, or affected to make light, of the 
prophecy. Six hours later he was dead. 

5 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

In absolute fact, everyone knew, or rather felt, that 
the King's end was near, though all imagined that it 
would proceed from a well-organized plot, and not from 
the determination of a single individual. A soldier, 
who had been brought up as a priest, meeting the 
widow of his late captain at Charenton, told her to go ' 
no farther into the city. " There is," he said, " a band 
of about a dozen men* employed by Spain to kill the 
King, and when that is done there will be terrible scenes 
in Paris and as great a danger to the Huguenots as there ; 
was on a certain St, Bartholomew's Eve." Henri him- 
self was, before he parted from his wife on the after- 
noon of the tragedy, very restless and, calling to one 
of the guards in the passage, asked him what the hour 
was, to which the man replied, " Nearly four," while 
adding with the familiarity that the King encouraged 
between himself and his soldiers : " You had best take 
the air. It will refresh you." " You are right, mon 
ami," Henri replied ; " order my coach for four 
o'clock." 

To apply these various forebodings of disaster to an 
occult power of divination possessed by those who 
promulgated them, would be, in these days, to expose 
one's self to well-merited ridicule ; but at least they 
testify to an indisputable fact. They show as clearly 

* Later it will be seen that the band consisted of ten men. 



Introductory Chapter 

as anything can show that a general knowledge existed 
that the days of Henri were numbered and that there 
were numerous persons in Paris who were well 
acquainted with the attempts likely to be made. It 
was, in truth, a knowledge that could not be concealed. 
The Roman Catholics principally hated Henri because 
they had no belief in the sincerity of his conversion, 
since, once before, during the massacre of St. Bartholo- 
mew, he had embraced the Catholic Faith to save his 
life and had then renounced it after returning to 
Navarre. The nobles who were members of The 
League hated him because he had effectually broken 
its power, and, indeed, it is possible that there were 
even Huguenots who hated him for having deserted 
his original faith. Meanwhile, since hired assassins are 
usually drawn from the most humble or the most 
desperate classes, there were scores of men sheltering 
in the lowest purlieus of Paris and in provincial towns 
who, dissatisfied with not having been called on yet 
to perform their hideous office, would be likely to chatter 
about what was eventually to happen ; or, proud of 
the interviews they had had with the great ones of the 
land, would nod their heads significantly and mutter 
that they " could an' they would," and, thereby, arouse 
suspicions in the minds of ^those with whom they 
mixed. 

7 



/ 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

That such creatures as these hired assassins were in 
existence is undoubted, as it is equally so that they 
must have had many interviews with the most eminent 
persons opposed to Henri. I 

The whole Court of France was at this time con- 
tinually seething with plots against some person or 
persons. At one time Concino Concini was plotting 
against the nobility ; at another the nobility were 
plotting to destroy him and his intriguing wife — the 
destruction, and that an awful one, finally falling in the 
next reign. The Due d'Epernon, a man of the highest 
rank, yet one more fitted to be a swashbuckler than 
aught else and the person who was in actual fact in 
command of the whole of the infantry and, practically, 
the whole of the troops, was a traitor to Henri from the 
first. In his case, however, he not only conspired 
against the King but also against all who opposed 
him, thwarted him, interfered with his plans, admired 
his mistresses, or obtained the governments of provinces 
which he desired to add to the enormous number of 
those he already possessed, as well as against those 
who did not feel called upon to regard him as their 
superior — in some cases not even as their equal — or 
to treat him with any deference whatever. That 
D'Epernon was likely to be left out of an attempt upon 

the King's life, or that he would have permitted himself 

8 I 



Introductory Chapter 

to be omitted from such tremendous treachery, would 
have been to falsify all the tenets of his existence : his 
occupation, other than the aggrandisement of himself 
and his family, would have been gone. As will be 
seen in the subsequent account of his career, and later 
on, he was not excluded from the work in hand, and, 
indeed, he played one of the greatest, if not the abso- 
lutely greatest, part in the terrible drama which was 
projected and which only failed because it was antici- 
pated by a few moments. 

Amidst those characters to be described is one whose 
name is ever associated with that of the slaughtered 
King, namely, Maximilien de Bethune, Baron de Rosny 
and Due de Sully. That he was a great soldier, a bril- 
liant ambassador, a splendid financier, an untiring 
worker and a true friend to Henri in his political, if 
not in his " private," career, has always been acknow- 
ledged. Yet a stain rests on his memory which, in 
the minds of all historians, and especially in the minds 
of all French historians, can never be effaced. It has 
always been supposed, principally owing to his own 
statements, as will be shown later, that he was aware 
of the fact that Gabrielle d'Estrees may have died 
of poison, and that, if she did so, he was acquainted with 
the intriguers and their plans. The marvel is, however, 
that in his own memoirs, the (Economies Royales, and, to 

9 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

a considerable extent, out of his own vanity and desire 
to show how well-informed he was as to all that was 
going on in and around the capital, he should have done 
his best to fasten upon himself an indelible blot which, 
if believed in, would darken his memory for ever. For, 
in his usual careless manner of writing — a careless- 
ness of which he could not be unaware — he absolutely 
tries to prove that Gabrielle d'Estrees did die of poison, 
and that he foresaw, or, rather, knew, that she would 
do so and foretold the event before it happened.* As a 
matter of fact, the unhappy woman had risen too high, 
her hold upon the passions of Henri had become too 
strong, to please any of those who surrounded her 
lover. Created Duchesse de Beaufort, she was soon 
recognized as the one person who would ere long fill 
the place of Marguerite de Valois when the divorce 
she had agreed to between herself and the King should 
be finally pronounced by the Pope. Already Gabrielle 
gave audience as a queen and patronized all other ' 
female members of the aristocracy; her robes of mar- 
riage and of state were in readiness, the acts for the 
legitimization of the children she had borne the King 
were in preparation, when the blow fell upon her. Of 
how Sully knew that it would fall, of the words he 
uttered before it fell with a view to comforting his wife, 

* See, later, the article " Sully." 
10 



Introductory Chapter 

who was furious with rage at the condescension of 
Gabrielle towards her, he himself undertakes to show; 
and, if his own words are to be believed, he stands con- 
victed of the knowledge of a dastardly crime which he, in 
his great power, could have prevented easily, but which 
he took no steps to so prevent. We shall, however, see 
that, in all probability, his desire to present himself 
before posterity in the light of an astute and per- 
spicacious man led him thoughtlessly to make charges 
against himself which, if substantiated, would place 
him on an even lower level of humanity than that to 
which the Due d'£pernon had descended. But this 
he never seems to have perceived. Astute as he had 
been through his prime and at the height of his power, 
he appears, when out of office and in his old age, to 
have possessed all the weaknesses of second child- 
hood and to have babbled egotistically to even his 
own detriment. Yet it is to Sully that we must turn 
(and there is no suspicion of his veracity here, whatever 
opinion may be formed of his methods of producing 
his great memoirs, which will be dealt with later), when 
we would discover what the opinion of the King was 
on the subject of getting rid of his wife. Marguerite, 
and taking to himself a new one, namely, his mistress, 
Gabrielle d'Estrees. 

It should, however, be previously stated, on the 

II 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

authority of the above, which is corroborated by De 
Thou and Bassompierre, that Henri early in his career 
marked out for himself ten principal objects — he called 
them his " wishes " — the attainment of which was to 
be the principal aim of his existence, and which, he 
said, he should never cease to pray God to grant him. 
They are interesting enough and, one may say, quaint 
enough, to justify quotation here. 

The first wish was that God should always protect 
him in this life and have mercy on him in the next : 
a desire which has nothing particular about it since it 
has probably been that of ninety-nine people in a 
hundred who have ever existed. 

The second was that he should never lose his health 
but remain always vigorous in mind and body — of 
which the same remark may be made as of the first. 

The third was that he should continue to struggle 
for the preservation of his religion and his party, viz., 
the Huguenot Faith and the Huguenots — a desire which, 
considering his twofold conversion, he certainly did not 
exhibit much eagerness to obtain. 

His fourth — perhaps the most quaint of all — was that 
God would deliver him from his wife and that he might 
find another equal to his own birth and quality (Mar- 
guerite's own birth was, as a matter of fact, immensely 
superior to that of Marie de Medici, her family on her 

12 



Introductory Chapter 

father's side being the most illustrious in Europe) ; 
that she would love him and that he would love her, 
and that she would be of easy and gentle nature and 
provide him with children so soon after their marriage 
that he would still have many years left to him in which 
to make them brave, gallant and accomplished. Of 
all this we shall see how much was accorded, and, also, 
for how much he was responsible in whatever failure 
of realization took place. 

The fifth wish was that he should obtain the throne 
of France and enjoy a long and happy reign, make the 
country splendid and the people happy, and be able to 
reward all those to whom he was indebted for their 
loyalty and their help toward his success. This, of all 
his desires, was the one that came nearest to accomplish- 
ment. 

The sixth was that he should either recover his king- 
dom of Navarre (the greater, or Spanish, portion of it 
having been appropriated by Ferdinand the Catholic, 
in 1513, and incorporated with Castille), or seize Flan- 
ders or Artois (they being then in the hands of Spain) 
as compensation, and, consequently, suitable for ex- 
change in return for his own country. Practically, 
this desire was never obtained. Only a small portion of 
Navarre remained to Henri, and that alone was joined to 
France when he had secured the throne of that country. 

13 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

The seventh was that he might eventually obtain a 
great victory over the King of Spain — who was at that 
time Philip II. — and also over the Turks, he being the 
General of the Christian armies. Neither of these events 
took place. 

The eighth was that, without attacking the Reformed 
Religion, he might considerably suppress the Huguenot 
faction and, especially, the Dues de BouiUon and de 
la Tremouille, who caused their followers to be more 
mutinous and troublesome than necessary ; but at 
the same time he hoped to do nothing to cause injury 
to France or her glory. There is so much tergiversation 
in this wish that it is better to judge Henri by his future 
acts and deeds than by what, as a much younger man 
than he was when he became King of France, he had 
seen fit to imagine it would be well for him to attempt. 

The ninth was that, before he died, Henri should 
carry out two splendid designs he had in mind with- 
out even communicating to anyone what they were, 
while at the same time he trusted that, by aid of a 
universal peace between aU the conflicting elements in 
France, these two designs might be brought about. 
This leaves us almost as much in the dark as does the 
preceding wish, since, excepting that Henri had become 
the most powerful monarch in Europe at the time of his 
death, and that he was also the most popular one, we 

14. 



Introductory Chapter 

perceive little fulfilment of the desire. It is true that 
he had crushed The League, which was one of his 
earliest aspirations, and, if Fate had permitted him to 
undertake the campaign against Spain and Austria, 
as he would have done had he not been assassinated, 
it is more than probable he would have achieved a great 
triumph. But one can say no more than this. 

The tenth and last wish was that Henri should 
eventually find his three greatest enemies, the Dues de 
Bouillon, d'Epernon and de la Tremouille, at his feet 
imploring his grace and pardon for sins of which he 
might legitimately complain, and that then, after re- 
counting to them all their evil and malicious actions, 
he should pardon them freely and thereby win their 
loyalty and affection.* This was the noblest wish of 
all ; this, the desire to forgive those who had intrigued 
against his ever obtaining the throne he was entitled 
to by descent ; those who had plotted more than once 
to have him slain, and, at the last, were to set on foot 
a plot against his life that only failed because their 
myrmidons were forestalled by a quicker hand. If, 
however, Henri actually believed, when he wrote down 

* It seems possible that Corneille had heard of this wish when, 
twenty-nine years after Henri's death, he produced " Cinna," and put 
into the mouth of Augustus Csesar the noble speech commencing : 

" Soyons amis, Cinna. .... 
Tu trahis mes bienfaits, je les veux redoubler ; 
Je t'en avois comble, je t'en veux accabler." 

15 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

these wishes, that any amount of pardon and clemency 
would ever soften the hearts of the above noblemen, 
and especially the heart of one of them, he was far, 
indeed, from having accurately gauged their characters. 
His perspicacity does not appear, however, to have been 
entirely at fault, since, as he indites his last wish, he 
adds, in speaking of his hopes for their future good 
behaviour, " which, nevertheless, I do not expect, 
remembering their evil disposition towards me." 

These ten principal desires of Henri were copied down 
in his own hand and given to Sully (then Rosny) in the 
gardens of the Chateau de Gaillon when they were 
walking together on the terrace, and it was not until 
two years later, viz., in 1589, that Henri, after a 
first initial conversation that he and Sully had had on 
the subject, again referred to them. He did so at 
Rennes when they happened to be together, and the 
wish to which he then made reference was the fourth 
one alluding to his desire to get rid of his wife Marguerite 
de Valois and to find another who " would love him 
and whom he could love." His manner of opening 
the subject with his faithful henchman was absolutely 
characteristic of himself, and, as will be observed, it 
dealt with a personage who, had her life not been sud- 
denly cut short, would have caused a total alteration 

in the history of the Royal Family of France. 

16 



introductory Chapter 

After remarking that he was at last peacefully and 
firmly installed on the throne of France, Henri stated 
that this fact, comforting as it was, was still incomplete, 
since he had no children by his present wife and was 
never likely to have any. He then began a review of 
all the princesses to whom he might offer his hand 
when he had obtained the divorce from Marguerite 
to which that high-born lady was perfectly willing 
to agree, provided that his next spouse should be a 
woman of - whom, as her successor, she need not feel 
ashamed ; and he instantly commenced to give the list 
of who those ladies, outside and inside France, were. 

Speaking of the Infanta of Spain — who would have 
been a most important match for Henri — he observed 
pleasantly that he could accommodate himself very 
well with her in spite of her ugliness if, by doing so, he 
could also marry the Netherlands and make them a 
portion of France. He next referred to Arabella Stuart, 
who was undoubtedly the lawful heiress of the English 
throne after King James of Scotland (who might not 
be selected by Elizabeth), but said that he could scarcely 
espouse her since neither the King of Spain nor Eliza- 
beth — it was not often that they were allies ! — were at 
all disposed to let Arabella take precedence of James 
and become Queen of England. He then remarked 

that there were two or three German princesses who had 

17 2 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

been suggested to him but stated that the ladies of 
that nation did not at all appeal to his tastes, while he 
went on to say that he did not care to have " a wine- 
tub " always by his side as companion, and also added 
that he might find himself saddled with a second 
Isabeau de Baviere. The sisters of Prince Maurice 
of Nassau were next passed in review, but as they were 
of Henri's original faith, they were not suitable. Speak- 
ing of Marie de Medici, who was also in the matrimonial 
market, and was eventually to win the great prize, 
Henri found no fault with her looks, and, of course, 
none with what would imdoubtedly be the size of her 
dowry if the King of France elected to marry her. But 
her family had been merchants and continued to be 
so, although the head of it had attained to the rank of 
Grand Duke of Tuscany ; while the memory of her 
late kinswoman, Catherine de Medici, was hateful to 
him. He then referred to the Princesse de Guise 
(Princesse de Lorraine), whose position was of the 
highest and her good looks indisputable, but she had 
the reputation of being un peu volage — although Henri 
said he did not believe such to be the case. Enumerat- 
ing other ladies who might be fitted to grace his throne, 
he spoke of the daughters of his old enemy, the Due de 
Mayenne — the head of The League ; but one was, he 

said, too black and swarthy, and the other too young, 

i8 



Introductory Chapter 

while the Princesse de Luxembourg was, like the sisters 
of Prince Maurice, also a Huguenot ; and, in appearance 
and nature, the Princesse de Conti, who was also avail- 
able, did not please him at all. 

Having computed all the various attractions, as well 
as the disabilities, of the above-mentioned princesses, 
and asked Sully's opinion on the matter, a considerable 
amount of badinage took place, especially on the part 
of the latter. Consequently, the King found that, 
before he was likely to receive any opinion whatever 
from his stubborn though devoted Minister, it would 
be necessary for him to name the lady whom he proposed 
to put in the place of Marguerite when the divorce had 
been procured. 

When he did so the information fell like a thunder- 
bolt on Sully. The King named Gabrielle d'Estrees. 

At first. Sully was unable to utter a word concerning 
the information accorded him, but, recovering himself, 
he indulged in some quotations from Scripture which, 
though appropriate enough to the lady in question, 
might well have been dispensed with altogether. After 
which he proved to Henri that, though it would be quite 
within his power to make the Due de Vendome — who 
had been legitimatized almost at once after his birth 
— ^his heir and, eventually. King of France, the pro- 
ceeding would cause so much dissension and, possibly, 

19 2* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

even civil war, that the country would eventually 
be brought to ruin. Nevertheless, as we shall see, 
Henri stood firm and Fate, and Fate alone, prevented 
Gabrielle from ascending the French throne as queen, 
since, in spite of the determination of Marguerite de 
Valois never to accede to a divorce which should leave 
Henri free to marry hei', the Pope could easily have 
been coerced into granting it. He was, indeed, ready 
to do so at the moment that Fate stepped in. 

With regard to Ravaillac and his crime, it is re- 
markable how few historians, no matter of what nation- 
ality they may be, have attempted to prove that which 
they might easily have proved with ordinary trouble, 
namely, the fact that a plot existed which did not number 
him amongst the plotters ; or that Ravaillac, if he even 
so much as heard of the plot, had no connection with it. 
The bald statement is occasionally made, especially by 
English writers, that " Ravaillac does not seem to have 
been mixed up in the scheme to slay Henri," or other 
words to a similar effect. " Seem " is, however, an 
unsatisfactory word when it is possible to state de- 
finitely that a certain thing is so or is not so. It is 
to assert the latter and to attempt to prove it to the 
hilt that these pages are written. 

J. B-B. 



20 



lift'*'!''"'' 11,1'l^^ip^ 




CHAPTER I 

" THE KING AND HIS CAPITAL " 

TJENRI IV., King of France and Navarre, was at 
the time of his assassination in his fifty-eighth 
year. By his first wife, Marguerite de Valois, daughter 
of Henri II. and Catherine de Medici, from whom he 
was divorced by mutual agreement, he had no children. 
By his second, Marie de Medici, he had six. The eldest 
of these became Louis XIII. of France ; the second 
was a child who only lived four years and a half ; the 
other son was Gaston, Duke of Orleans (the most 
treacherous and contemptible of all the Bourbons) ; the 
daughters were Elisabeth, or " Isabelle," who became 
the wife of Philip IV. of Spain ; Christine, who became 
the wife of Victor Amadeus, Prince of Piedmont and 
Duke of Savoy ; the last was Henriette-Marie, who 
became the wife of Charles I. of England. 

It has already been said that Henri was the most 
popular king who ever sat upon the throne of France, 
and the statement may well be made when drawing 
comparisons between him and not only those to whom 

21 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

he succeeded, but those who succeeded him. Before 
Henri IV. it is possible that Francis I. came nearest in 
popularity to him, yet Francis lacked the bonhomie 
which Henri possessed ; his amours, almost as unfailing 
as those of the subject of this sketch, still lacked some- 
thing which, though it could not justify, yet softened 
the failings of Le Bearnais. Francis was too often 
cruel to women who had resigned themselves to him, 
while Henri, though he might part from those whom 
he had once loved, and replace them far too often, was 
never aught but gentle and kind and, as far as was in 
his power, good to them in after days. 

As regards those monarchs who succeeded Henri, 
it is almost impossible that a striking comparison should 
be drawn between him and them. The nearest in 
resemblance to him, though in a different form of 
popularity, was undoubtedly his grandson, Louis XIV., 
yet the people's regard for Le Roi Soleil was com- 
pounded more of pride and admiration than any 
sentiment nearly approaching to love. He was great, 
he was splendid in all that he did — a quality more 
calculated, perhaps, than any other to capture the 
hearts of the French ; he was almost uniformly suc- 
cessful in his wars with neighbouring countries — 
with the exception of England — and his manners were 
perfect. But, nevertheless, he rarely, if ever, appealed 

22 



" The Kingf and his Capital " 

to the emotions of those who admired him. If he 
rode past peasant-women working in the fields, or, as 
sometimes happened, encomitered a female servant in 
the corridors, he invariably touched or doffed his hat ; 
but, with Henri, it was a gentle slap on the shoulder, 
a remark to a girl about her beaux-yeux, a question 
concerning a man's sick child, that was forthcoming. 
With Louis it was superb and never-forgotten courtesy 
that was accorded ; with Henri, the good-humoured 
greeting came from the heart. 

In France there existed in his day a custom at some 
inns, especially those in the northern provinces, that 
the hostess had the right to demand a kiss from any 
important personage who had patronized her house ; 
and, when Le Bearnais, as his subjects loved to call 
him (from the Province of Beam in which he was born, 
at Pau), rested at any such inn the tribute was un- 
failingly demanded. We know that, with him, the 
accolade was not only graciously received, but, especi- 
ally where the landlady was young or good-looking, 
warmly returned. With Louis XIV. it is doubtful if 
any landlady would have had the courage to make 
such a request ; or if, had it been so made, it would 
have been granted. With Louis XIII. , son of the 
one and father of the other, the result of such a request , 
can, when his nervous and austere nature is remembered, 

23 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

easily be guessed. He would have turned and fled 
the house.* Of other French rulers, none has ever 
approached anywhere near to Henri's universal 
popularity. 

This popularity was, however, far greater with the 
bourgeois class than with the aristocrats. The latter 
never forgave the manner in which he saw through 
their dislike to his obtaining possession of the throne 
which was his by direct inheritance, nor the way 
in which the ladies of their class intrigued for his 
favours, nor the love which the people testified towards 
him. They considered, also, that his second change of 
religion — which was the only thing that could give 

* There are numerous instances on record of this King's misogyny. 
Entering a room in which was seated Mdlle. de Hautefort, for whom 
he had more than once testified a mawkish, sickly kind of admira- 
tion, he surprised her in writing a letter which she instantly folded 
and held in her hand. Annoyed at this, Louis XIII. demanded that 
she should show it to him ; a request that was at once refused. Irri- 
tated at being disobeyed, the King approached to take the letter 
from Mdlle. de Hautefort and, on her retreating from him, followed 
her round the room. Seeing that, without resorting to absolute 
disobedience, she would be forced to yield up the letter, the young 
lady thrust it into the lace above her open bodice and exclaimed in 
desperation : " So be it ! Take it ! " Louis instantly turned and 
left the room, or, as some writers say, picked up the tongs and took 
the letter by aid of them. At Dijon, at a banquet given in his honour, 
Louis, owing to his prudery, performed an action that was not only 
unworthy of a king and a gentleman, but of any man. A lady sitting 
opposite him was dressed in an extremely dicolletie manner, and 
after regarding her with considerable horror for a brief moment, 
his Majesty filled his mouth with wine and then, with remarkable 
precision of aim, squirted the fluid over that which caused him so 
much offence, 

24 



" The King and his Capital " 

him thorough possession of his kingdom — was an act 
of deceit committed against them, who had, on their 
part, committed so many similar acts to prevent him 
from obtaining that kingdom. They pretended, also, 
to be embittered against him for the wars into which 
he had plunged France, while forgetting that, had they 
been willing to acknowledge his undoubted right to 
the throne after the death of Henri III., the greater 
part of those wars would never have taken place. 

But against Henri there was a still more powerful 
opposition than the aristocracy, though it was, to a 
very considerable degree, composed of members of the 
higher classes. This force was the Church, which had 
always been bitterly hostile to him, and, after the Edict 
of Nantes was issued in 1598, loathed him with a loath- 
ing that was almost superhuman. From that time, 
although twelve years had still to elapse ere he met 
his doom, his assassination was assured. To have 
escaped death until it should have pleased Nature 
to allow him to die calmly in his bed, would have been 
to justify, beyond all possibility of refutation, the 
statement that there are some men who bear charmed 
existences. For it was from that time that the long 
series of attacks on his life commenced, excluding 
those made before he was King and beginning with 
the attempt to include him in the Massacre of St. 

25 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Bartholomew.* At the period of this awful event, 
and also of Henri's marriage with Marguerite de Valois, 
Charles IX. called the former into his presence, and, 
showing him a heap of slaughtered Protestants, while, 
at the same time, he uttered many menacing threats, 
concluded by saying, " Voild, la mort ou la messe." 
The compliance of Henri with the King's significant 
suggestion was the signal for the first outward attempt 
at assassination. While he was performing his ab- 
juration of the Protestant Faith before the altar of 
St. Denis, a man named Pierre Barriere attempted to 
stab him, though, afterwards, at his torture, he con- 
fessed that he regretted having taken so sacred a 
moment for the attempt. 

Paris, during the reign of Henri, was a city which 
was as well-fitted to afford opportunities to assassins 
to carry out their hateful deeds as any in Europe. 
It covered a space of not more than an eighth of the 
Paris we know now, and the principal part of it stood 
on ground which, to the fashionable Parisians of to- 

* The statement that Charles IX. fired at Henri the arquebus 
with which he was mowing down Protestants in the streets during 
the massacre, may be dismissed with contempt. Indeed, it is highly- 
doubtful if Charles discharged the arquebus at any person, in spite 
of the maniacal state to which he had become worked up at the time. 
The window from which he is supposed to have fired was not then 
in existence, 

26 



^>^^l -Mofiixoitrtfi 



^^. 






--^. L^ttxar, 






/V„ 












{jiixui dU £i»nfi[£ 




Map of Paris in i6io. 



\_t'acing i>. 27 



" The King and his Capital " 

day, or the thousands upon thousands of pleasure- 
seekers who visit the Capital annually, is not known 
at all. The St. Antoine quarter, which, since the period 
of the Revolution, and even before, has been regarded 
as the poorest of all Paris quarters, was then the most 
fashionable one. It was for long the place of residence 
of the de Montbazons, the Dues de la Force (whose 
house afterwards became the Prison de la Force), the 
Montmorencies and de Guises, the de Sevignes, and 
scores of other illustrious families. The Place Royale 
— ^where the tournaments were held and where Henri II. 
was accidentally killed in one by Montgommery — 
contained in Henri's reign the Hotels of Sully, of Diane 
de Poitiers — which was afterwards that of the Due de 
Mayenne, the most powerful member of The League after 
the death of his brother, the Due de Guise — and numbers 
of others, and aU the mansions either faced or backed 
upon the Rue St. Antoine. Now, the Place, Royale is 
called the Place des Vosges and, although the houses are 
stiU very handsome and the ground well kept, the former 
are divided into flats and inhabited by tradesmen and 
clerks, and the latter is used principally by nursemaids 
and their charges. The Rue des Francs-Bourgeois (in 
which there is yet to be seen the house built for 
Gabrielle d'Estrees, as well as the Allie aux ArhaUtriers, 
in which Louis d'Orleans was murdered by Jean Sans 

27 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Peur, Due de Bourgogne — a shield on a wall, with an 
inseription, eommemorating the place and deed — and also 
the Hotel d'Angouleme, where dwelt Diane de France, 
daughter of Henri II. by an Italian mother, and wife 
to Farnese, Due de Castro, and, afterwards, to the eldest 
son of the Constable Montmorency) is now a horribly 
mean street filled with low shops and drinking dens. 

At this time the principal houses of the afterwards 
fashionable Quartier St. Germain had scarcely been 
begun ; not far from where now stand the mansions of 
almost all who have contributed to the nobility and 
glory of France, was a gloomy marsh, in which mur- 
derers, footpads, and fugitives from justice lurked ; 
in which, at great distances from each other, were to 
be perceived solitary manors wherein horrible deeds 
were often perpetrated ; to which abducted women — 
either rich or beautiful — were sometimes carried, and 
in the vaults of which rivals, enemies and false friends 
were frequently incarcerated until the terrible damp 
and miasmas that arose morning and night put an 
end to their inconvenient existences. Indeed, consi- 
dering the reputation which London has always " en- 
joyed " in the minds of the French for fog and gloom, 
it is somewhat remarkable that, with the Marais 
{Anglice — Marsh or Morass) on one side of the river, and 
the fens and bogs of the place where the fashionable 

28 



" The King and his Capital '^ 

portion of the Quartier St. Germain afterwards arose on 
the other, our neighbours should ever have been struck 
with the peculiarities of our own Metropolitan climate. 
The city was, consequently — and owing to there 
being no suburbs in the true sense of the word — con- 
fined in a very small space at this time. The Bastille 
was just inside the ramparts on one side, the Bastide 
(whence the name) being the outer tower by which 
the gate of the town-wall at this spot was defended. 
Outside was the Cours la Reine, when constructed by 
Marie de Medici on the opposite side of the city ; but 
it was close to the wall there. That old, great wall of 
Paris, of which the wits said, " Le Mur murant Paris 
rend Paris murmur ant," still stood intact. So did the 
Tour de Nesle, even then spoken of with horror as a 
place of terrible deeds where princesses inveigled their 
lovers to sup with them, and later, to avoid exposure, 
had them stabbed and flung into the Seine or hurled 
down trap-doors into the river. The tales of this ghastly 
place, half prison and half nid d' amour, have, however, 
lost nothing in the telling from the days of the early 
Bourbon romancists to those of Dumas. 

The Champs-Elysees were meadows in which cows 
and sheep grazed, where rabbits could be snared in 
quantities, and where it was dangerous for anyone who 
was unprotected to proceed to alone after dark. The 

39 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Bois de Boulogne.* which, for over a century, has been 
the most fashionable resort on the Continent, was a 
densely-grown wood wherein Henri's first wife had, 
in her girlhood, often hunted the wild boars in com- 
pany with one or other of her kingly brothers, Francis 
II., Charles IX., and Henri III. Even so late as the 
Revolution it was still a place in which trembling 
'^ suspects " hid themselves, and in which the National 
Guard hunted for them as Marguerite had hunted 
savage beasts. On the banks of the water that it then 
possessed, and which is now represented by the lake 
on which the aristocratic world skates in the winter 
and round which it drives in the season, otters and 
badgers had their haunts, and the wildfowl, when they 
rose, were captured by hawks principally belonging 
to the Royal Family or the members of the great 
houses, this being a sport only permitted in those days 
to the noblesse. 

Fifty-two years had yet to elapse after Henri's death 
before the first stones of the present palace of Ver- 
sailles should be laid, and about half as many ere 
Louis XIII. erected the hunting-lodge which preceded 
it, and which St. Simon termed a petit chateau de Cartes. 
The Louvre was a vastly different building from that 
which we at present behold ; there was a moat round 

* Then a portion of the ancient Foret de Rouvray. 
30 



" The King and his Capital " 

it ; a huge space, which is now a narrow one, between 
it and the Church of St. Germain I'Auxerrois, and a 
street that ran from north to south between it and the 
Tuileries. The Church of Montmartre, now a superb 
white temple, which, owing to its great elevation, may 
be seen by travellers for many miles before they enter 
Paris from all quarters, was even then a conspicuous 
object though lacking in any particular architectural 
beauty, and had been, still earUer, the resort of Ignatius 
Loyola and his followers. 

Returning to the city proper over which Henri reigned, 
it has to be said that it was gloomy by day and terribly 
dark by night. It was also shockingly unhealthy. The 
graveyards were not fenced off, so that persons in a 
hurry took short cuts across them ; the sewers, so- 
called, consisted of open trenches along which the 
" drainage " ran when it rained and , accumulated when 
it was fine. There were roads but no footpaths, and on 
wet days the only escape for foot-passengers from being 
splashed was in the doorways and ruelles, into which 
they leapt whenever horsemen, or horsewomen, or a 
man and a woman riding pillion, were seen to be 
approaching. Of coaches or carriages there were 
scarcely any, and those caUed coaches were not what 
were termed coaches later. Henri's death is always 
attributed to his being stabbed to the heart " in his 

31 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

coach," but, in truth, what he sat in on the occasion 
was more like a char-a-bancs with a tent-cloth thrown 
over it than aught else. Windows in these vehicles did 
not exist for the sufficient reason that there were no 
sides to the latter in which the frames of the former 
could be set. Ordinarily, there were leather blinds 
affixed to the roof — generally with the arms of the 
owner stamped in gold on them, since few public vehicles 
for hire had any existence — which were rolled up some- 
what in the manner that school-maps are rolled when 
not wanted, and they were only let down when the rain 
or the sun necessitated their use. They were also of 
considerable value at night, or in the daytime, when 
danger was apprehended from cut-throats and assassins 
generally, as the leather would turn off most blows 
that could be dealt. Had Henri gone thus — which he 
would never have consented to do in the daylight — 
to visit Sully at the Arsenal, his death would not have 
taken place in the Rue de la Ferronnerie. It would 
only, however, have been postponed.* 

The nights in Paris, outside those of fetes and illu- 
minations, were difficult things with which to contend. 
The nobility, when they were in town, occasionally 
had a lanthorn — with their own colours dyed into the 
horn so that they might be easily recognized — hung 

* Histoire des Chars, Carrosses, etc., by D' Ramee. 
32 



" The Kingf and his Capital ** 

outside their great portes-cocheres. Doctors then, as 
now, had red lamps, they being generally slung from 
a high window so that they should not be stolen — 
it was an age of stealing everything on which hands 
could be laid ; the bagnios had the same. But beyond 
these there was little to light the city except on the 
nights when there was a moon. Sometimes, it is true, 
the passing of a noble from one place to another would 
cause a momentary light to be distributed around from 
the torches carried by his retainers, and, if he chanced 
to be an amiable personage, people who happened to 
be going the same way as he would attach themselves 
to his cortege for light, as well as for protection from 
the wretches lurking at the corners of the numerous 
ruelles — which were very much like Scotch wynds — that 
ran out of all the streets in considerable numbers. In 
absolute fact, there was as much danger to persons on 
foot from the want of light as from assassins, for he 
( who should happen to miss his footing in the darkness 
[ of one of the streets of old Paris on a wet night was 
as likely to be drowned in the filth of the open sewers 
' as he was to be throttled, or run through the body 
by bravos, on a fine one.* Of other lights there might 

* Paris was at this time so unhealthy that the King and his Court 
vacated the Louvre regularly, so that it should be aired and cleaned 
and made wholesome. The better class of citizens did the same with 
their houses. 

33 3 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

occasionally be encountered that of a lantern slung 
across the street by a rope, the convenience being due 
to the benevolence of two opposite neighbours : the 
Bastille occasionally condescended on foggy nights to 
have lighted braziers on the top of its towers and, now 
and again, a church-roof would be lit up in a similar 
manner. At that of St, Germain I'Auxerrois it was the 
custom to illuminate its summit on most nights in the 
winter, partly because, it is supposed, it faced the then 
principal exit and entrance of the Louvre, and partly 
because, as the scornful whispered, it was from the 
towers of this superb edifice that the signal had rung 
(owing to the clock being put forward an hour by order 
of Catherine de Medici) for the Massacre of St. Bar- 
tholomew to commence.* 

It has, however, to be said, that it mattered very 
little in the days of Henri IV. whether the streets were 
lighted at night or not ; whether the most poisonous 
malaria emanated from the open drains or not, or 
whether assassins lurked or did not lurk at every 
street corner and beneath every tradesman's bulk. Life 
was, in any case, still as insecure as it had ever been 
in the days of his predecessors, and, undoubtedly, far 
more insecure than it ever was to be in those of his 

* In contradistinction to this statement of the old writers, many 
modern ones contend that the signal was sounded from La Sainte 
Chapelie close by. 

34 



" The King- and his Capital " 

successors — excepting always the latter period of 
Louis XVI. and that of the Revolution. This was 
probably owing to the fact that there was always at 
this time a vast number of soldiers in and around the 
Capital — indeed, it is hardly too much to say that, ex- 
cluding the very young and the very old (those under 
fifteen and those over seventy) and also the priests, 
every man was a soldier. In many cases even the priests 
were fighting men, and active ones. During the Siege 
of Amiens by Henri, the Cardinal d'Autriche took the 
head of a small army sent against the former ; several 
bishops also commanded bodies of troops, and the 
monks and priests of Paris took arms against the 
Protestants during The League. The internal wars were, 
to a great extent, responsible for this insecurity; so, 
too, was the large army which Sully insisted on having 
always in a state of readiness ; and so, also, was the 
fact that, in Paris, almost every man capable of bear- 
( ing arms enrolled himself in some company, or guild, 
which was vowed to defend the city to its last gasp. 
Amongst all these, many were mercenaries fighting 
under whatever banner gave promise of most pay and 
plunder, and mercenaries when disbanded, or when 
at ease, were ever the worst species of individuals that 
could be let loose among a general public. To this 
fact has to be added another — namely, that the great 

35 3* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

captains of the day had each at their back a vast fol- 
lowing of spears, or lances, all of whom took their mode 
of conduct from that of their masters. Sully had nearly 
a thousand of these individuals at his beck and call, 
and Sully, whatever his rugged virtues may have been, 
was a rough, harsh man ; the Due d'Epernon had from 
seven to eight hundred, and d'Epernon, without any 
virtues at all, was a truculent bully ; De Mayenne had, 
in actual fact, the whole of The League at his command, | 
and probably possessed more vices — including the 
supreme one of treachery — than almost any other 
member of that vast association ; the Due de Mercoeur 
rode with about five hundred lances behind him, and 
the following anecdote will tend to show what kind of 
individual he was. >- 

Accompanied one night by twenty or thirty of his 
followers — they were enough for what was to be done ! 
— the Duke forced his way into the house of Monsieur 
Servin, avocat au parlement. On seeing the Duke, the 
other saluted him civilly, and wished him good evening. 
To this the intruder replied that he had not come to 
Monsieur Servin's house to wish anyone good evening or 
to have it wished to him, but to cut his host's throat. 
The host, naturally surprised at this extravagant form of 
answer, remarked on the intemperance of such lan- 
guage and behaviour, especially in the house of a 

36 



" The King and his Capital " 

Minister of the Crown, and continued that, if the 
Duke had any grievance against him, he had better 
appeal to the King. To this the Duke answered, while 
drawing his sword, that M. Servin had stated in the 
Chamber of Edicts that he was not a prince, as he 
styled himself, and that there were no recognized 
princes except those of the blood-royal. He would 
then have put his threat into execution had it not 
been for one of his accompanying friends who forcibly 
prevented him from doing so. 

Brutality and insolence were, indeed, the particular 
qualities of the nobility in this and the succeeding 
reign, though the nobility by no means considered 
themselves to be either brutal or insolent. Govern- 
ment of their families, their servants and their military 
followers, as well as of the lower orders, had neces- 
sarily to be by la main-forte since, between the latter 
and their rulers, there was a greater line of demarca- 
tion fixed than could now exist between a man and his 
stable-boy. Indeed, any man who should now ill- 
treat a dog as the nobles of this period then ill-treated 
human flesh and blood that had offended them would 
be prosecuted and punished. 

And yet, had those nobles been remonstrated with 
by persons whose standing gave them the right, or 
power to do so — say, a King, a Queen, or a Confessor— 

37 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

they would not only have been extremely astonished 
at the remonstrance, but also hurt ; and they would 
certainly have offered what they considered a suffi- 
ciently good explanation of their behaviour if they 
condescended to offer one at all. They would have 
pointed to the fact that their own lives were constantly 
menaced by assassins — which statement was, indeed, 
incontrovertible ; that in most cases their servants 
hated them, owing to the still existent laws of Villenage 
which actually gave their order the rights of life and 
death over those servants, and that, since their own 
lives were daily jeopardized in the unceasing wars, it 
was not unnatural that, in times of peace and repose, 
they themselves should exercise stern justice on those 
who owed their very existence to them. But, faulty as 
such an argument might easily be proved to be, they 
could have adduced a further one which was indis- 
putable. They could have stated with absolute truth 
that when their soldiers, their domestic servants, their 
woodmen and agricultural labourers, as well as the very 
priests on their estates, grew old and past work, the 
remainder of their lives was well-provided for. They 
might have said that they stood in the position of fathers 
to all who had served them and their families well ; that 
their fortresses became the asylums of their aged fol- 
lowers ; that their money provided the Masses for the 



" The King and his Capital " 

repose of their souls and for the ground wherein they 
were laid to rest, as well as for the comforts that 
cheered their declining years. Nay, more, they could 
have declared with equal justice that the daughters of 
their servitors were dowered by them ; that their own 
wives, haughty dames and chatelaines though they 
might be, furnished those daughters with their marriage 
outfits, provided them with all they required when 
they brought children into the world, and, in many 
cases, saw that the children were well looked after by 
their successors. Nor was this all. When the wander- 
ing minstrels came, or the troop of strolling players, or 
jongleurs, and begged to be allowed to perform in the 
hall, it was not only those who ruled the great house, 
but also those who served them, who witnessed the 
entertainment. When winter evenings were in their 
full severity ; on Ember Eves when the wassail-bowl 
was filled high ; on Christmas nights when the monks 
came in to give their representation of " The Birth in 
the Manger," the servitors, men-at-arms, and others 
formed part of the audience, drank of the spiced wine 
that was passed round, received their portions of the 
roasted pea-hens and swans, their share of the massepain 
and sweetmeats and of the vails and gifts, and were all 
one of a great family over which their lord and lady 
presided. 

39 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

It was no wonder, therefore, if the latter could look 
only on those beneath them as creatures whose lives were 
theirs to do with as they chose, though, at the same 
time, extreme cruelty or absolute death was never 
the portion of the lower orders at the hands of their 
superiors except for two things, namely, treachery or 
insolence. 

But to familiarize ourselves with even such a state 
of existence as this, a recollection of the period under 
discussion must always be preserved in our minds. 
Treachery practised by men who, no matter how lowly, 
had always by their side some weapon, in a city where 
there was more darkness than light, and in which there 
were more narrow and tortuous streets and alleys than 
there are burrows in a rabbit-warren, could, if the in- 
tended stroke failed, be only punished in one way, 
namely by instant death. To give the " serpent an 
opportunity to sting twice " was to court the certainty 
of sudden death for themselves sooner or later. 
Henri III., miserable creature though he might 
be, was still a Valois and treated with disdain the 
earlier attempts on his life ; and, at last, the 
attempt succeeded. Henri IV. treated with equal 
disdain the far more numerous attempts to slay 
him, while, since he was a fatalist, his indifference 

was owing to his belief that if it was to be it 

40 




The Tour de Nesle (Period Henri IV.). 



IFncing p. 40 



" The King and his Capital " 

would be, and that if it was not to come it would 
not come.* 

It is to show the treachery that gradually gathered 
round the ill-fated Henri IV. that this book is partly 
written, while its principal object is to prove that 
though "Treason did his worst" with him, it failed 
in its efforts and that more simple and fanatical means 
accomplished the deed which treachery had meditated. 

Before proceeding farther upon the absolute matter 
in hand, it will be as well, however, to give a still more 
extended description of Paris as it was in the days 
when plot after plot was being laid against the life of 
the King, and alsu a more full description of the life 
led within its ramparts. 

Omitting more remarks than are absolutely necessary 
on the morality of the city, which morality, if the truth 
must be told, had scarcely any existence at all at a time 
when the whole Capital was more like one vast Agape- 
mone than aught else, it may be stated that the two 
principal vices were gambling and duelling. As regards 
the former of these two, there was no worse sinner in 

* It is remarkable that all the Henris of France died by violence. 
Henri I. was almost certainly poisoned, Henri II. was killed by the 
lance of Montgommery in a tournament in the Place Royale (there 
were some who said intentionally), Henri III. was stabbed by the 
monk, Jacques Clement, and Henri IV, by Ravaillac. 

41 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Paris than the King himself, while that which made 
his fault the greater was the fact that he was never in 
possession of sufficient money to permit of his gambling 
at all. 

It was the custom in this reign, as in previous and 
successive ones, for the whole of the inhabitants to 
visit La Foire Saint-Germain annually, and there, at 
night-time at least, to indulge in a licence of dissipation 
and extravagance which has, probably, never been 
equalled at any other place or in any other period. 
In the day-time, the fair was like a vast cosmopolitan 
market to which came, from all parts of Europe, 
dealers and merchants who had anything worth sell- 
ing. Here could be purchased the skins of bears slain 
in the Ural or Carpathian Mountains ; horses from 
England or Ireland — then, as now, the countries known 
for their pre-eminence in horse-breeding ; armour and 
weapons made by the master-hands of Milan or Toledo ; 
black boys reported to have been brought by Portu- 
guese missionary-monks from mid-Africa, and fair- 
haired maidens supposed to have been torn from their 
parents in Circassia, though often believed to have 
been stolen from no farther off than the coasts of Nor- 
mandy or Brittany, or those of Sweden or Norway. 
Silks, too, from China, Siam and the Indies were to be 

purchased here, and were sold with the undoubtedly 

42 



" The King and his Capital " 

fictitious guarantee that they had been stolen from 
the Palace of the Great Mogul, while, at the same time 
that the rich nobles were buying these things and occa- 
sionally evading payment of them, trifles so incon- 
siderable as to be within the reach of the humblest 
peasant were also on sale. Wooden whistles for the 
children, made on winter nights in the peasants' 
cabins of the Black Forest, as well as clocks, were there ; 
so, too, were dolls and toy-horses and dolls '-houses — 
differing in scarcely any particular from those sold at 
the present day in England ; and daubs on paper of 
the Adoration of the Magi, The Sacred Birth, The Last 
Supper and The Crucifixion. But there was also a 
great trade in books going on at this fair. Almanacks, 
such as those of Frankfort previously referred to, found 
a ready sale, for, though they were not almanacks 
in the modern acceptation of the word, they contained 
recipes for healing wounds, colds and coughs, the bites 
of vipers and mad dogs and the ailments of maternity 
or of old age, as well as recipes for cooking and the 
making of preserves of all kinds of things from sloes 
and boluses and quinces — the fruits and, for want of 
others, also the vegetables of the period — to snails and 
slugs. Yet, in these days, not one person out of thirty 
of the whole population of France could read with ease, 
and not one out of seventy-five could write a letter 

43 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

which anyone else could read at all. These almanacks 
were, however, accompanied by illustrations — always 
the most rude of woodcuts — which no one could fail 
to understand. They were, indeed, of a terrifying and 
repellant nature and, outside those dealing with reli- 
gious matters — which, however, were not always 
exempt from censure — were often disgusting. Never- 
theless, a better class of book was to be procured, a 
form of literature perused by noble ladies in their 
tourelles and rush-strewn boudoirs, or behind the silken 
hangings of their beds in which they passed so much 
time when left alone by their lords, or when it was im- 
possible for their vast and draughty mansions to be 
properly warmed and heated in the winter. Among 
these would be found books of love and adventure, the 
" C ommenf aires " of the Marshal de Montluc, which 
Henri IV. called " La Bible des Soldats," and was the 
production of one of the most savage and bloodthirsty 
soldiers that any country ever produced* ; the " Histoire 
de Bayard, Chevalier Sans-Peur et Sans Reproche," and 
the " Histoire Generate des Larrons," published a little 
later in the reign of Louis XIII., and, perhaps, the 
prime favourite of all. It is now a rare book, the first 
edition of which was unknown to Brunet, yet the 

* He remarks in his Commentaires : " On pouvait cognoistre par ou 
j'^ais pass^, car par les arbres on trovivait les enseignes. Un pendti 
estonnaif plus que cent tuez." 

44 



" The King and his Capital " 

revolting crimes which it narrates must have endeared 
it to the highly-sharpened appetites of the ladies and 
gentlemen of its time, and have caused it to obtain a 
considerable sale.* 

It was at night, however, that what, with very little 
license, may be described as the " fun of the fair " 
commenced ; the gambling set in and darkness lent her 
aid to many things that would not bear the light of 
day. Cloaked and masked ladies, who were clad as pages 
underneath, and who often carried (either as disguises 
for themselves or as weapons wherewith to injure their 
rivals) colours and badges that were not those of their 
own illustrious houses, appeared on the scene ; 
scriveners, clerks, and others dressed in the cast-off 
garments of their betters were also there, and, with 
swords which they little knew how to use, strutted 
about until accosted by men of a higher rank, when 
they generally took to their heels. The bullies, the 
matamores and bretteurs of the day, were likewise much 
in evidence, and so, too, were the purse-lifters, the 
gentlemen who would cut the cords by which the cloaks 
of others were suspended from their shoulders, and 

* The author's copy, which he picked up in France for a few pence, 
is beautifully printed and would disgrace the production of many 
books of to-day. The pages have, however, undoubtedly been turned 
over by the fingers of several generations. It possesses over five 
hundred of these pages, every one of which describes something 
horrible or disgusting. 

45 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

the men who lay in wait to fall upon the successful 
gamblers as they left the booths where the tables were 
set out. 

Of the gamesters of high estate who frequented this 
delectable haunt, the King was, as has been said, one ; 
and his losses were, for a man of his scanty means and 
for his time, often stupendous. One January night he 
lost at dicing at this fair twenty-two thousand pistoles 
(equal to nearly forty-five thousand pounds of our 
money at the present day), and Sully had to find the 
sum out of the State Funds within twenty-four hours.* 
This is but one example of great losses which he sus- 
tained in the same manner and was also but one of his 
various forms of extravagance, of which the following 
are instances. 

From the time Gabrielle d'Estrees held Henri in her 
net and was so near to the throne that she would have 
undoubtedly ascended it had she lived longer, and had 
not Marguerite de Valois refused to consent to her 
divorce from the King, and, thereby, resign her place 
to so degraded a woman as the other, Henri squandered 
money on her to which he had no right whatever, since 
it belonged to the finances of the State ; and, in doing 
so, he almost reduced France to bankruptcy. At the 
baptism of the son of Gabrielle's aunt, Madame de 

* Journal de I'Estoile. 
46 



" The King and his Capital " 

Sourdis, the favourite appeared in a black satin robe so 
weighted with precious stones that, before the cere- 
mony was concluded, she was unable to stand any 
longer. A week later, Henri purchased for her — and 
had to pay ready money for it, since the jeweller would 
not give him credit — a handkerchief which had cost 
nineteen hundred crowns,* While he was thus lavish- 
ing his money on his mistress he did not stint himself, 
his excuse being that he must appear as well-dressed in 
State ceremonies as his nobles, and that the money spent 
was won at the gaming-table — which was not true, 
since he was not only a singularly unlucky player but, 
if most accounts are to be believed, was often cheated. 
He bought himself at this time a court-sword orna- 
mented on the handle and scabbard with diamonds, for 
which he paid one hundred thousand crowns, and for 
a costume to wear at the baptisms of his various 
children he paid fourteen thousand crowns, it being 
composed of cloth of gold embroidered with pearls. f 

Henri had, however, been so shockingly poor at the 
time of his predecessor's death that the aristocratic 
rulers of the various provinces, themselves mostly men 
of large means, exclaimed that it was impossible to 
permit him to become King of France. When he was 
informed of the assassination of Henri IH., and hastened 

* L'Estoile. t Bassompierre. 

47 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

to St. Cloud in the hope of seeing the unhappy victim 
before he expired, and, doubtless, in the hope of 
obtaining Henri de Valois' last word in his favour as 
heir (which word had been uttered before his arrival), 
he had no suitable clothes to assume. Indeed, had 
Henri HI. not been himself in mourning for his mother 
at the time of his death, Henri IV. could not have 
assumed any fitting apparel. But the former's doublet 
of purple — the royal mourning — was altered to suit 
his successor and cut down to his smaller size, and when 
he entered the death-chamber everyone present recog- 
nized that, and the cloak, as the property of the dying 
man. The apparent vulgarity of the above-men- 
tioned personages probably did not truly express 
their opinions on the difference between rich and poor 
men, but, since they were all Leaguers, the circumstance 
served to raise one more objection against their hated 
antagonist. 

Meanwhile, to keep the King in countenance the 
whole of Paris followed in his footsteps, though the 
nobility surpassed him in at least two things in which 
he could not indulge, namely, in duelling and robbing, 
as well as murdering, people on the highway. At the 
Foire St. Germain fights took place not only between 
individuals, but between different bodies of men. A 

number of royal pages fought lackeys who had been 

48 



" The King and his Capital " 

insolent to them, and, in one case, when a nobleman's 
servant cut off the ears of a student and put them in his 
pocket, the other students slew nearly all of the 
menial's companions. Soldiers fought indiscriminately 
against hired bravos, the lackeys, the pages, and the 
unoffending citizens, and were often killed by being 
outnumbered, so that, when the officers in command 
of them came out of one of the many " Academies de 
Jeux," they occasionally found that there was no pro- 
tection for them, and that they were in imminent danger 
of being murdered themselves. 

These nocturnal performances, which, indeed, more 
resembled the street-fights of later days than anything 
else though they were much more dangerous, stand 
far removed from the duels which hourly took place, 
or from the highway robberies by which the nobility 
and gentry frequently refilled their purses after they 
had been emptied in the tripots. The Baron de Sancy, 
sent by Henri to recruit soldiers in Basle — Switzerland 
being then the great depot of mercenaries, and he the 
Captain of the Swiss Guard — heard that twenty-two 
travellers, each of whom had over four thousand crowns 
sewn up in his saddle, were approaching that ancient 
city, which was then, as it still is, one of the chief gates 
of Central Europe. Seeing in their arrival the oppor- 
tunity of paying the advance necessary to secure the 

49 4 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

services of the mercenaries, he went forward with his 
own following to meet the merchants, captured them, 
seized their money, and then hanged them all to the 
trees. The Baron de Fontenelle was broken alive on 
the Place de Greve for practising brigandage on land 
and piracy at sea, and for being supposed to have 
joined in one of the many plots formed against the 
King's life. A very young gentleman whose name is 
not given, but who was superbly dressed when captured, 
was executed in the same place for highway robbery 
and other " strange acts," and for slaying a creditor who 
demanded his money. Monsieur de Lagrange-Santerre 
would have been spared by the King if he could have 
proved that he had not been accustomed to rob people 
on Les grandes routes, but the evidence produced against 
him was to the effect that he had been a highwayman 
from his boyhood, that his father was in prison on the 
same charge at the time he was tried, and that his 
grandfather had been executed for similar crimes. A 
month later, two of his brothers were also executed 
on hke charges. 

The list of these exploiteurs is too long to permit of 
more than a few solitary instances being quoted, but 
it is worth observing that those who possessed good- 
looking female relations, or good-looking female friends, 
who could in some manner obtain audience of the King, 

50 



" The King and his Capital " 

were hardly ever executed. Henri's ruling passion was 
well known and well utilized. 

To select any instances of duelling that stood out in 
a strong light during this reign would be impossible, 
since, from the time of Henri's accession in 1589 to the 
year 1607, four thousand gentlemen perished in these 
encounters in spite of the edicts against duels. For, 
independently of the conflicts which might arise from 
the most ordinary causes for such combats, namely, 
jealousy, rivalry, revenge, or disputes over gambling, 
women or wine, these bloodthirsty affairs frequently 
formed part of the " amusements " of the day. Parties 
met to breakfast or dine or sup together with the dis- 
tinct understanding that the " festivity " of the occa- 
sion should be concluded by a visit to the Pre aux Clercs, 
or the Place Royale, or the host's garden, wherein sides 
should be made up and an all-round duel fought between 
those who, an hour or so before, had been drinking 
healths to each other or toasting the charms of their 
own and each other's lady-loves. Once the affair was 
over the greatest harmony again prevailed — between 
those who still survived ! The bodies of the fallen were 
despatched to their homes, the wounded were sent to 
the hospitals, or to their friends or relatives, and those 
still unharmed prepared to continue their carouse or to 
commence a fresh one. The horrible duel between the 

51 4* 

\ 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

mignons of Henri III. and Bussy d'Amboise and his 
friends was of a similar nature to these. On other 
occasions, when even such a general melee was not consi- 
dered sufficient excitement, large parties would send 
notice to some nobleman or grand seigneur that, on a 
certain day, they purposed presenting themselves out- 
side his house and would esteem it an honour if he, with 
a similar following, would be prepared to meet them 
and to indulge in a friendly encounter. The invitation 
was scarcely ever refused. Had it been, the person to 
whom it was sent would have been ostracized.* 
F In religious matters it was naturally a stormy time. 
The old original religion, the Faith that had been that 
of the whole of Europe — which formed in those days 
the whole of the world worth counting — until something 
under a century earlier, had ever5rwhere received terrible 
shocks. England was gone from out its fold for ever 
— the gS'ea.t Queen Elizabeth had made that certain ! — 
so, too, were many German and more northern States ; 
half of the States of the Swiss Confederacy had em- 
braced Protestantism, or were about to do so, and in 
France Henri's followers — in spite of his own two-fold 
apostacy — were now becoming more and more numerous 
since, at this time (namely, the latter half of Henri's 

* Bussy Rabutin, writing of a period nearly fifty years later than 
Henri's death, narrates an almost similar occasion in which he played 
a part. 



" The King and his Capital " 

reign) the Edict of Nantes consolidated their power 
and their safety. Nevertheless, in France The League 
was, if shorn of much of its strength, still powerful, and 
behind The League there stood the great body of the 
French people. They, at least, showed no sign of dissent, 
while their feelings, based upon the admirable, if homely, 
reflection that what had been good enough for their 
forerunners to live and die under was good enough for 
them, did not undergo, and have never yet undergone, 
change. Moreover, there were vast districts, indeed, 
whole provinces, in which it is very doubtful if the words 
" Reform," or " Reformation," in connection with reli- 
gion, had ever been heard. Nor, had these words been 
uttered would they have been understood, while, if 
such had been the case, the utterance of them might 
possibly have been fateful to the utterers. All over 
the land the people saw the great cathedrals whose 
hoary existence dated from far beyond the time to 
which ran the memory of man : at Rheims, for instance, 
they worshipped in the vast and solemn fabric in 
which their kings had been crowned since the time of 
Louis le Debonnaire, and in the original of which fabric 
Clovis had embraced Christianity. At Troyes, the 
ancient capital of Champagne, the most disastrous 
invasion of France had come to an end by the marriage 
in the Cathedral of the Enghsh conqueror, Henry V., 

53 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

to the daughter of their own King ; here, too, they knew 
that Joan of Arc had ridden in triumphantly and knelt 
in thankfulness before the High Altar, and here, also, 
their own King, the Bearnais, had forced The League 
to open its doors to him. 

Throughout all France, from north to south and from 
east to west, it was the same ; every massive cathedral 
and almost every village church told the story of how, 
around and within their walls, the only Faith they knew, 
or ever desired to know, had been the comfort of their 
forefathers in their lives and their solace in the hour 
of death ; that here were the spots in which they had 
heard the promises of pardon and salvation on the Day 
of Judgment. Nor, in the Capital itself, was there any 
lack of that spiritual food which all, no matter whether 
ferocious noble, honest bourgeois, or thief and murderer 
about to be broken on the wheel or burnt alive, desired 
at some hour of their uncertain existences. Upon the 
little island in the river the ancient Cathedral stood 
as it still stands, the shrine of tranquillity and, in those 
days, the sacred domain of sanctuary ; the personification 
to the minds of all, whether King or beggar, of a peace 
yet to be theirs that should pass all understanding. And 
all around that little isle — around the great House 
of God, not yet so black as Time and weather have 
caused it to become — were churches that could vie with 

54 




^ u 



h4 -t 



" The King and his Capital " 

the mother one in beauty and antiquity, and from 
which issued forth daily the promise of eternal hope 
for the life to come. 

Nevertheless, since religion played so great a part 
in the lives of all who dwelt in what were, still, 
almost medieval days ; since, from the lips of her 
ministers were uttered words of advice — of sometimes 
gentle reproof, and of, above all, pardon for sins com- 
mitted again and again, it is to be regretted that these 
ministers were so little free from the very faults which 
they forgave in their penitents, and that their lives did 
not match better with their words. The sin of the 
Cardinal de Guise with Gabrielle d'Estrees — then 
almost a child — will be referred to later ; the Cardinal- 
Archbishop also became the lover of Charlotte des 
Essarts after she was cast off by the King, and, later, 
went through a secret form of marriage with her and 
had an acknowledged family by her. It is, indeed, 
scarcely too much to say that during this reign there 
was hardly a dozen of high church dignitaries whose 
lives were not as sinful as the lives of the most dissolute 
laymen, nor a priest of humbler orders who was not 
too fond of indulging in the most gross pleasures of 
the table. Instances, however, stand out on the other 
side, and amongst those few whose lives were entirely 
pure that of St. Vincent de Paul — who in his earlier 

55 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

days was the Confessor of Marguerite de Valois ! — is 
one. 

Charity played a large part in the lives of the well- 
to-do of these times, and acquitted itself nobly of the 
credit assigned to it in Holy Writ of covering a multi- 
tude of sins. Church dignitaries, however open to 
reproach in other matters, gave largely to those in need. 
So, too, did the nobility, and so, likewise, did the rich 
members of the middle-class. Young women, the 
daughters of well-to-do traders and tradesmen, were 
as kindly to the poor as are the " Lady Bountifuls " 
of our own day in our own land, and as young and 
earnest French ladies have now become ; they fed them, 
clothed them, and endeavoured to impart some educa- 
tion — their own was not considerable ! — to the children, 
while, as L'Estoile narrates, there were those who daily 
walked about the districts wherein they lived with, 
attached to their girdles, a purse full of pieces of silver 
which they distributed among all who appeared needy 
or suffering. Queen Marguerite de Valois, after she had 
consented to her divorce from Henri because of the 
fact that she was unable to provide him with an heir, 
gave nearly all her money away in charity, and she, 
herself, had at this time very little of that commodity 
to spare in spite of her considerable revenues. 

As a set-off against many of the errors of Henri during 

56 



" The King and his Capital " 

his reign — and one that counts in company with his 
unfaiHng kind-heartedness and his good-humour, as 
well as the lack of any spark of cruelty in his disposition 
— may be placed his desire to beautify Paris. If he 
did not find the Capital as Augustus said of Rome — 
" of brick and left it marble " — he, at least, found it 
a terribly dirty, foul, old place, and improved it vastly. 
There were houses of the nobility that, it is true, were 
models of ancient architectural beauty, but they were 
generally surrounded by horrible slums. Also, there 
were, of course, the cathedrals and the old churches, 
of which mention has been made ; but there were no 
pavements, and, as we have seen, scarcely any lights ; 
the bridges were rotten, tumble-down things, mostly 
of wood, through which heavy waggons, and occasion- 
ally horsemen, frequently fell into the river, while the 
Pont Neuf was not completed until after Henri's death. 
Carriages and cabriolets and carrying-chairs were — as 
has been said — things almost unheard of, though there 
was a species of general public conveyance known as a 
Patache which sometimes ran to and from various out- 
skirts of the city, its incoming and outgoing being 
principally regulated by the state of the weather. 

Henri set himself the task of remedying many of 
the above-mentioned discomforts in so far as means 
would allow. Nineteen new fountains were erected in 

57 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

different parts of Paris, from which flowed water that, 
if not actually of the purest, could be imbibed by man 
and beast without any fear of certain disaster. For 
wholesome water was, of all things in the city, the most 
difficult to obtain. Money could buy the most deli- 
cious wines of Bordeaux, or Burgundy, or Champagne,* 
as well as many other things, but the richest nobles 
or merchants could not procure pure water by the aid 
of all their wealth unless they paid to have it imported 
in skins and barrels from far-off sources. There was, 
indeed, no possibility of the case being otherwise. The 
Seine was often loaded with the corpses of suicides or 
murdered people, and sometimes with the bodies of 
those who had been executed ; it was also the usual 
tomb of drowned dogs and cats, or of their various 
newly-born progenies, and not infrequently of the 
bodies of newly-born children. The uneatable refuse 
of animals, fish and birds, rejected by the cooks of the 
great mansions on the banks, also found its way to the 
Seine, and such drains as were in existence emptied 
themselves into it. The Bievre — the second river of 
Paris and on the south side of the Seine — ^which cor- 
responded somewhat with our old Fleet Ditch, though 

* The use of refined sugar as a means to assisting the natural 
effervescence of any of the wines of the latter province had not then 
been discovered. Consequently they were drunk as " still " wines, 
or as almost " still." 

58 



" The King and his Capital " 

it was, and is, much wider, was bordered by the manu- 
factories of dyers and of those employed in similar 
trades, and the inhabitants who should drink of its water 
would encounter almost as sudden and certain a death 
as they would have done from the fangs of a snake. 
To supply the fountains with more pure water than 
was otherwise possible, there was erected a machine 
called La Fontaine et Pompe de la Samaritaine, situated 
four yards below the second arch of the Pont Neuf, 
which brought to Paris the water from the aqueducts 
of the Pres' St. Gervais and Belleville. The idea was 
that of a Fleming named Jean Lintlaer, and it was 
strongly opposed by the sheriffs and merchants of 
Paris as they considered that its presence would in- 
terfere with the navigation of the river. Henri, however, 
refused to recognize this opposition on the ground that 
the Pont Neuf was being built more out of his revenues 
than out of those of the city. He had his way, and 
a remarkable machine arose which excited the curiosity 
of the Parisians and strangers for two hundred years, 
when it was ordered to be removed by Napoleon I. at 
the time that he was intent on beautifying Paris. The 
name of this construction — which at least fulfilled 
a useful and healthy want — was derived from two 
gilded bronze figures above it representing Christ and 
the woman of vSamaria at Jacob's Well. 

59 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Consequently the fountains erected by Henri conferred 
upon Paris a boon, if a poor one, such as she had never, 
heretofore, experienced. But his benefactions did not 
cease with these. Many buildings were restored, 
added to and beautified. Several quays were built 
which replaced, or rather covered, the stony beach 
of the Seine, from which the public were as utterly 
unprotected as we are in London, at the present 
moment, on the towing-path of the south side of the 
Thames between Putney and Richmond. These quays 
were, and still are — under, in some cases, other names — 
those of the Arsenal, I'Horloge, des Augustins, la 
Megisserie, de Conti, I'Ecole, and des Orphelins. 

The Place Royale was also completed by the addi- 
tion of its fourth side, and the Place Dauphine and the 
Rue Dauphine came into existence. Meanwhile, the 
Louvre was furbished up ; in many cases several small 
rooms were turned into one large one and the place 
was made more habitable than it had ever been before. 

There were, however, other changes taking place 
during the reign which, though some only were attri- 
butable to Henri, are worthy of remark. He was 
himself a wearer of spectacles, since his sight began to 
fail him a few years before his death, and it was owing 
to him that the one shop in Paris where they could be 

procured was established on the Pont Marchand, at his 

60 



" The King and his Capital " 

suggestion. The glasses he wore were very large and 
round. Watches, also, began to be carried, and were 
for a long time termed montres-horloges. They were 
enormous and, in some cases, almost as big as a modern 
dessert-plate ; consequently, they were supported by 
a chain round the neck and rested on the chests of those 
who could afford to possess them. Powder for the 
hair came also into fashion in this reign, but its use was 
confined to no persons or sex, while the clergy, as well 
as women of piety, adopted it largely, perhaps with a 
view to add to the dignity of their appearance. 
L'Estoile, who did not miss much of what there was 
to be seen and recorded all that he saw, says he one 
day encountered in the street three religieuses, who had 
not only powdered their hair, but curled it. 

But that which was, perhaps, the worst of the new 
customs was the now almost universal one of women 
going masked — as will be easily understood by those who 
can recognize the opportunities for deception that it 
created. The habit had come into fashion in the pre- 
ceding reign, but during that of Henri it increased 
enormously and was fruitful of evil. A masked woman, 
clad in a habit such as a rival was known to affect, 
or with the badge or colours of that rival's family in 
her bodice or her hat, or on her shoulder, could, and 

did, sometimes cause incredible woe, especially if the 

6i 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

rival was suspecfe in the eyes of those who had the 
power to punish her for her faults. Yet there were 
even worse wrongs than these to be perpetrated by the 
aid of the mask. Women desirous of injuring others 
whom they often imagined had injured them, would 
procure another form of mask resembling the features 
of the detested foe. This, placed over their own face 
and surmounted by hair of the same colour, while 
arranged in the same fashion as that of their enemy, 
and with the ordinary mask, or domino, partly dis- 
guising the one beneath, could work unutterable mis- 
chief. The stab of the hired bravo, the whispered 
insinuations of false friends, the pen of an unsuccessful 
rival, were almost harmless in comparison with such 
treachery as this.* It is, therefore, little wonder that 
at this time the mask was called by the significant name 
of le hup. An even more suitable term would have 
been la louve. 

In this brief sketch of the Paris that, as Henri said, 
" was worth a Mass " (it was one of those inconsiderate 
jokes which, in aU ages, have often brought ruin on 
those who uttered them, and, in the case of Henri, 
helped eventually to cost him his life), it has been im- 
possible to mention more than a few facts connected 

* Lemontey. The writer says that the number of women injured 
by this form of deception at this time, and later, was almost incredible. 
He terms these masks, " masques-portraits."- 

62 



" The King and his Capital " 

with the state in which he found it on obtaining the 
throne at last. But if further ideas are desired of what 
its existence was, it may be added that the comedians, 
such as they were, were ordered to always conclude 
their performances at half-past four in the afternoons of 
spring, autumn and winter, so that the public could 
get home in safety before dark, while respectable 
women out after nightfall were always to be accom- 
panied by at least one man who was to carry a lamp 
and be well-armed. 

It was at this time that a census was taken by order 
of the King, but it was, naturally, very imperfectly 
made. A better calculation was arrived at by a person 
whom L'Estoile knew. This individual reckoned the 
absolute poor as one in every twenty-seven, and, pro- 
viding that, to begin with, he had accurately gauged 
the number of paupers in the city, the population of 
Paris would stand at something like two hundred 
thousand inhabitants. It is possible that this com- 
putation was very nearly a correct one. The streets 
numbered 413. 

Of newspapers there was none, excepting Le Mercure 
Frangois, a poor thing dealing mostly with Court 
scandal, and of which Richelieu in later days spoke 
scathingly as " un recueil de mensonges." But there 
were quaint little pamphlets published on particular 

63 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

occasions — they were about the size of a quarto sheet 
of paper and consisted of one sheet only — when there 
was any out-of-the-way news to be circulated of foreign 
wars or peacemakings, or descriptions of men of note 
being broken on the wheel, or of women being burnt at 
the stake, or of houses destroyed by fire, or of a fresh 
instance of a nobleman's insolence, or a monstrosity on 
exhibition. An elephant in the menagerie of the gardens 
6i the Tuileries (Coryate of " the Crudities " has, among 
others, left us a description of such sights as these) 
received the honour of a notice, and so did " a monster " 
on show, which was simply a predecessor of the Siamese 
twins of our own time, since it consisted of two recently- 
born children who were joined together as one single 
body. Marie de Medici went to see these as a rare 
novelty — as probably they were. 

The comedians of the Hotel de Bourgogne also 
obtained occasional announcements in these printed 
sheets of forthcoming performances which the King 
and Queen often went to see. Henri, however, fre- 
quently fell asleep during the representation, especially 
when the Italian players took the boards, though, 
since one of the chief of them was eighty-seven years 
of age and was supposed to be a sprightly dancer, it is 
not perhaps remarkable that his Majesty should do so. 

Of other matters pertaining to social life, it may be 

64 



" The King* and his Capital " 

mentioned that it was a terrible time for the use of 
perfumes. Everyone, from the King and Queen down, 
scented themselves in a manner that would be now 
intolerable. Indeed, people were recognized by their 
own particular scents (the plot of more than one of the 
buffo-comedies of the day revolved on this fact), and 
the novelists also used the custom freely as a matter 
for ridicule. In Theodore Agrippa d'Aubigne's* " Baron 
de Foeneste," the author states that " a gentleman 
is known by his scent " ; and in Sorel's Histoire 
comique de Frangion one character exclaims to a very 
flamboyant hero : " How you are scented ! " to which 
the other replies : " Scented ! Do you not know that 
I am about to appear as the King ? " As for the Queen, 
she scented everything — ^her clothes, her hair and her 
linen, and placed sachets of Italian perfumes in the 
drawers of every chest and cupboard she possessed. 

That Henri used scent was owing to the fact that, as 
he passed the greater part of his life in the saddle and 
often slept for hours when riding slowly on long journeys 
(he was so short that he could hardly ever get on to the 
back of a horse without the use of a mounting-block, 
a fallen tree, a stone or a helping hand), he considered 
he was not always an agreeable neighbour. Indeed, in 
his case vanity could not have been the cause of his . 
* Grandfather of Madame de Maintenon. 

65 5 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

using scent, since, except at high Court and State 
functions, his appearance was httle short of slovenly, 
though often enough this arose from the fact that in 
his errant life before he had gained the throne of France 
he could not always find the opportunity for changing 
his clothes or removing them for his night's rest, or even 
for washing himself or brushing his hair. As regards the 
latter addition to his appearance, he had, however, 
a strange dislike to having his hair attended to, or 
to attending to it for himself. His dress was frequently 
torn and ragged, his linen was dirty from the constant 
pressure of the lining of his cuirass upon it, and the 
dust often remained in his beard and moustache when 
he made his appearance among the foppish courtiers 
and splendidly apparelled women in the halls of the 
Louvre. Yet, notwithstanding all — his diminutive 
stature, the fact that he stammered somewhat and 
never spoke French with a perfect accent, his dis- 
hevelled clothes and soiled linen — he was the most 
valiant man in France, and was treated with the deepest 
reverence by all amongst whom he moved, while his 
ordinary subjects adored him. His bonhomie was, 
indeed, well calculated to endear him to all. It has 
been said that his son, Louis XIH., touched his hat 
to his people, and that his grandson, Louis XIV., took 

his off to them ; but he, when his subjects saluted him, 

66 



" The King and his Capital " 

replied pleasantly : " Your servant. Your servant," 
and invariably addressed those nearer his own rank as 
" My friend," or as " Bellegarde," or " Montbazon," 
or " Bassompierre," without any prefix at all. It was 
also his habit to interlace his fingers with those of the 
persons with whom he shook hands, and to keep them 
in that position so long as he talked to the others. 

Among other things remarkable about Henri was his 
enormous appetite, including his love for melons, which 
he devoured to an extraordinary extent ; while, as 
regards his vast consumption of food, he seems to have 
been faithfully followed in that respect by his 
descendants, the four Louis — ^Louis XIV. 's noble efforts 
in this direction having most nearly approached his own. 
St. Simon, in his wonderful summing-up of Louis' per- 
formances in this particular, as well as of all his other 
habits and methods of life, his clothes, manners, and 
tastes, states that he invariably ate three times as 
much as most ordinary men, and that his digestive 
apparatus was found after death to be in about the 
same proportion to that of other men. 

Henri was not ill-educated for his time, in spite of the 

younger Scaliger's statement that he could not read, 

which statement was not accurate. He spoke Spanish — 

it being almost his native tongue owing to the position 

of Navarre on the map — and knew some Latin; he 

67 5* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

also spoke Italian, while his French would not have 
been bad had his accent been better ; but it was, 
indeed, as Pierre Bayle has said, as good as might be 
expected. He knew, also, something of classical history, 
and he had made himself very well acquainted with 
all the principal events of the magnificent reign of 
Elizabeth, who only pre-deceased him by seven years. 
Voltaire, in his " Henriade," indulges in the license of 
making Henri visit England to see her, though his 
editors apologize for his doing so on the ground that it 
was interesting to imagine what the conversation of two 
such eminent personages would be if they were brought 
together. It is, however, bad history for a good, 
though prejudiced historian, to write, even when 
clothed in a poetic garb and with all due poetical 
license allowed. Henri, it is almost unnecessary to 
state, was never in our country.* 

His religion, or, perhaps, it had better be said, his 
religious beliefs, can scarcely be explained. His joke 

* Voltaire was, however, none too particular in his statements. 
He invents a will, or declaration, of Ravaillac, which he could not 
have seen, for the reason that it never existed. "La Henriade" was 
dedicated in English to the Queen of England, where Voltaire lived for 
three years, and the book was published here (London) in 1726. But 
the Queen at that date was Sophia of Zell, who never came to England, 
but was divorced by her husband and kept a prisoner for life at Ahlden. 
Yet Voltaire speaks of her as " the protectress of all arts and sciences " 
and compares her to Ehzabeth in her personal virtues. (See Marmontel's 
preface to edition 1785;) There was thus no Queen until 1727, when 
George II. became King. 




^ 



" The King and his Capital " 

about the Mass, which injured him more than anything 
else could have done in the eyes of his people — if any- 
thing could injure him in the eyes of those who looked 
upon him as their earthly saviour — was in a manner 
corroborated, though, privately, by his confession to 
Marie de Medici that, when he became a Roman Catholic, 
he only did so to obtain the throne of France. On the 
other hand, the Landgrave of Hesse stated that Henri 
had once informed him that he was still devoted to the 
reformed religion, and that, before he died, he intended 
to make a public confession on the matter. Richelieu 
was acquainted with both these statements, and, 
Richelieu-like, does not appear to have believed either 
of them. As it was, however, his business, in his own 
interests — as always ! — to keep Louis XHL secure 
upon the throne during his own lifetime, he probably 
never said so openly and only confided his opinions to 
the paper on which he wrote his memoirs. 

Ten years before the death of Henri there was no 
real theatre in Paris, since that of the Hotel de Bour- 
gogne was little better than a dancing-place in which 
women no longer young, and never good-looking, capered 
and figured before an audience principally composed of 
the boatmen and fishermen of the Seine. Later, this place 
was to become the cradle of the Theatre Frangais, and in 

its successors the tragedies of Comeille and the comedies 

69 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

of Moliere were to be performed before the most aristo- 
cratic of audiences — but that time was still unborn. 

Light was, however, about to dawn upon the drama. 
In the year of the King's death a writer named Honore 
d'Urfe published the first part of a romance entitled 
" Astree," which had an enormous success and was read 
with enthusiasm over the whole of Europe, while its 
popularity served to show that there was a public which, 
provided it was supplied with beautiful thoughts ex- 
pressed in noble language, was willing to become deeply 
interested in forms of art that did not rely for their 
popularity on obscenity, immorality, and the tricking of 
too confiding husbands. The success of this novel may 
have been, and doubtless was, inspired by the Stage. For 
some years earlier a change had become apparent on the 
boards ; passion, it is true, was still the greatest main- 
spring of plays, but it was passion that was expressed 
in a manner which need shock no modest woman who 
had passed her teens, while, at the same time, vice was 
always defeated instead of being always successful, as 
had hitherto been the case. Consequently, the frowsy 
old posturers and worn-out, painted harridans who 
had hitherto danced and sung, or attempted to dance 
and sing, the characters of young lovers and innocent 
maidens, fell farther and farther into the background and 

gradually disappeared altogether. 

70 



" The King and his Capital " 

The dramatist who principally availed himself of the 
opportunity to do for the Stage that which D'Urfe 
was afterwards to do for Literature, was a man of great 
gifts, though, until this change was inaugurated, he had 
profited but little by them. His name was Alexandre 
Hardy (often mis-spelt Hardi or Hardie), and for some 
years he had been engaged in writing so-called plays, 
interludes, the words of musical pieces, songs to be 
acted and sung with vulgar and significant gestures, 
and other matter of a similar nature. He also con- 
trolled a wandering company, and, it has been said, 
thought nothing of writing every morning a new play, or 
divertissement, which his troupe learnt in the early after- 
noon and immediately afterwards played to its audience. 

But he was made of better stuff and for better things 
than this. 

A new theatre was required, something superior to 
that of the Hotel de Bourgogne, and it was founded 
in a garden that was in the old Rue du Temple, Hardy 
becoming the author who supplied it with plays, as 
well as being the proprietor of it in part, if not wholly 
so. He provided such plays to the extent of six hundred 
in twenty-three years, his fecundity of production not 
having been destroyed by the new style of composition 
which he had undertaken. Nevertheless, he had 
thoroughly changed that style and his methods, and the 

71 



the Fate of Henry of Navarre 

dramas which poured forth from his pen were serious 
and well thought out, the various characters were 
properly balanced, and, as far as yet could be, they 
were pure. The attempt succeeded, the theatre was 
open three times a week — a remarkable thing in those 
days ! — his actors became comfortable in their circum- 
stances and relieved others who were in want, instead 
of themselves cringing for alms from the public, or 
dying of starvation in the streets.* As Guizot has 
truly said on this subject : " When the former actors 
died of hunger there were soon no others, and, con- 
sequently, no dramatic authors. But Hardy found for 
his actors the means of living, and thereby performed 
the greatest service to art that could be rendered." 

Hardy's last works are Achille et Procris, a. tragi- 
comedy, and Alphee, or " Love's Jealousy," while there 
is another entitled Nicomede which, though it does not 
bear his name, is so powerful that it is often attributed 
to him, and probably rightly so. Between him and 
the splendid dawn of Corneille's genius — which at last 
far outshone his own brilliancy — there were no other 
dramatists who approached greatness but Racan, Mairet 

* Histoire du Thidtre Frangais, by Les Freres Parfaict, 1745-49. 
A full and excellent work. De L'Aulnaye, a critic of a hundred 
years ago, censures Hardy for making a Roman figure in a drama laid 
in Egypt or Greece. He may have forgotten the Caesars, Pompey, 
Mark Antony, and others. 

72 



" The King and his Capital " 

and Theophile,* more poet than dramatist ; the latter 
being the best though not the most popular author, 
a circumstance not unknown in all forms of art both 
before and since his time ! It has also to be mentioned 
that in Mariamne Hardy wrote a drama that has been 
considered by critics as almost faultless in its style, 
and was imitated by Tristan some years after his death 
and by Voltaire more than a hundred years after that. 
Of poets during this reign one towered high, namely, 
Malherbe, but none equalled those of the reigns of the 
last of the Valois. There was no Marot and no Ron- 
sard now, while even those had fallen far short of such 
earlier sweet singers as Bertrand de Ventadour, de 
Blosseville and Martin le Franc, whose lines beginning 

" y^y nom sans bruit, 

Foeuille sans fruit, 

Le jour m'est nuit." 

have haunted the ears of many generations. 

Henri IV. might himself have come down to us as a 
poet if he were to be judged by the effusions he was 
in the habit of forwarding to his mistresses, and if, 
unfortunately, they had not been the productions of 
de Lominee, his secretary, or of Malherbe, who wrote 
them for him. 

* The author of the celebrated Une : 

" II ne voit que la nuit, n'enfend que le silence," 
since appropriated by dozens of French authors (including Delille, 
who ought to have known better [J. 

73 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Painting exhibited much medium talent, but scarcely 
any of the names of the artists of Henri's reign have 
stamped themselves forcibly on the minds of posterity. 
The brothers Dumoutier, Bunel and his wife, Toussaint 
Dubreuil, Ambroise Dubois and Martin Freminet * 
are known to connoisseurs and the custodians of picture 
galleries, but it is to be feared that they are scarcely 
familiar to the general public. Yet in their time, and 
in other lands, Rubens was already founding an im- 
perishable name. Guido Reni, the painter of the 
" Aurora " and the head of " Christ crowned with 
thorns " (The Ecce Homo), was in the full splendour 
of his talents,f' and Velasquez was taking his first 
lessons from Francesco Herrera. 

Historians, as will be seen by the notes to these 
pages, flourished abundantly, and most of them were 
excellent. Legrain, de Thou, d'Aubigne, Madame Du 
Plessis-Mornay, widow of Du Plessis-Mornay — termed 
the " Huguenot's Pope " — Matthieu, "historiographer of 
France," who was commissioned by Henri to write his 
life and neither leave out his errors nor insert any good 
qualities which he did not possess, were of them. Of 

* Bunel and Freminet are the only artists of this list who are 
mentioned in Pilkington's well-known " Dictionary of Painters." 

t To Guido is attributed the supposed, and much copied, portrait 
of Beatrice Cenci. But Beatrice had been executed before Guido 
lived in Rome, and he was not the man to copy another artist's work. 

74 



" The King and his Capital " 

memoir writers, there were L'Estoile, Sully — to whose 
remarkable efforts we shall come — the Due de Nevers, 
the Due d'Angouleme, Bassompierre (although he wrote 
his memoirs of this time in the next reign), d'Aubigne, 
memoir writer, novelist, poet and dramatist, as well 
as historian ; Groulart, de Sancy — noble, soldier and 
swashbuckler — de Cherverny, de Villeroy, La Curee, 
Brantome (accurate but cynical, and far too free in 
revealing the peccadilloes of men and women which 
would have been much better left untold) who was 
now nearing his end and had retired from the Court 
and society he loved, and hosts of minor writers. 

In consulting these writers it must, however, be borne 
in mind that, excellent and useful as all of them are in 
casting a vivid light on a past period which was 
probably the most fascinating of all French epochs, 
there existed the greatest possible reason for causing 
them to be startlingly at variance in their opinions, 
if not in their facts. That reason was religion. Several 
of them were of the old Faith ; those remaining were 
of the new. Sully, d'Aubigne and Madame Du Plessis- 
Mornay and some others, were of the latter. And it 
has also to be remembered that the Catholic religion is 
still the religion of France, and that, consequently, the 
more modern writers, essayists and critics generally, 
throw doubts on many of the statements made by the 

75 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Protestant authors. Sully unfortunately merits these 
doubts — as will be seen ; but the widow of Du Plessis- 
Mornay comes unimpeached through the ordeal of 
mistrust. As for d'Aubign6, his reputation would alone 
be saved by the torrent of contradiction, to use a mild 
word, which has fallen upon him from the early days 
of his lifetime until now. But his statements are easily 
to be verified and his maligners confounded. Never- 
theless, he was a Huguenot, or, at least, a Protestant 
— the terms are not exactly synonymous, though closely 
allied — and that was, and always has been, sufficient 
in France. The third volume of his " Histoire Univer- 
selle," an admirable work, had the distinguished 
honour (and advertisement !) of being publicly burnt 
by the hangman by order of the Parliament of Paris, 
while he, disgusted with the then government, retired 
to Geneva where he spent the last years of his life 
in peace, surrounded by friends and brother exiles of his 
own Faith. Yet it is strange to reflect that his grand- 
daughter, Madame de Maintenon, should have become, 
principally through self-interest, the most bitter per- 
secutor of the Protestants and have driven many of 
the best subjects of France to England, Germany, 
Switzerland, America and other lands, in all of which 
their descendants have become welcome and honoured 

subjects ; and that she should, when she herself went 

76 



" The King and his Capital " 

to her grave, have been spoken of more often than 
not as the " Curse of France."* 

One final word must be given in this chapter to the 
Satirists who played a strong part in these last years 
of Henri's reign, and a useful one in enabling us to place 
ourselves amidst the brilliant surroundings of the 
period. Of all satires, that named Satyre Menippee, 
which appeared at intervals (in two parts) a little 
earlier than what may be termed " Henri's last years," 
namely, between 1590 and 1600, was the most effective, 
since it turned an amount of ridicule and contempt upon 
The League — the most powerful combination of the 
Church and the Catholic nobility against which Henri 
had to contend — the Roman Catholics, the States- 
General, and the family of de Guise and de Mayenne, the 
chiefs of The League. The writers were numerous, and, 
although there were no professional authors in those days, 
namely, men who made a regular living by their pen, the 
satire burnt like vitriol, and did, as satire should, 

" like a polish' d razor keen, 

Wound with a touch that's scarcely felt or seen." 

It achieved its purpose. The Due de Mayenne stood 
forth more as a fat, blundering idiot than the ill-tem- 
pered, blustering autocrat he was ; the men of the 
de Guise family more as frowning, scowling bullies 

* See St. Simon's remarks on her in his celebrated Me.moires. 

77 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

than nobles whose pride was almost meritorious when 
their high birth was remembered. Malice did its worst 
for one side, and, in doing so, performed the best of&ce 
for the other.* 

It may be that the service done to Henri's cause by 
this remarkable work led the King to be particularly 
lenient to many libels perpetrated on him. La liberie 
d'imprimer was, in the reign of Henri, complete — 
though in that of his son and grandson the reverse 
took place — and the Discours, " Avis," " Avertissements- 
Livrets," and other pamphlets which L'Estoile so 
frequently bought, teemed with attacks on Henri and 
his Court. One, the name of which will not bear men- 
tion here, attacked so ferociously the noblemen and 
noblewomen of the day for the lives they led, that, when 
he was pressed to punish -the writer, Henri called for 
the book and read it himself. It did not spare him or 
his light existence, yet, while acknowledging that it 
was somewhat too plain-spoken — it was, indeed ! — he 
refused to have the author punished and said that 
" he could not conscientiously proceed against an honest 
man for having told the truth." Another brochure, 
entitled Le Soldat Frangois, abused de Villeroy, 
but Henri laughed at the latter' s complaints and 

* Butler is thought to have taken his idea of " Hudibras " from 
this satire. 

78 



" The King and his Capital " 

practically told him to hold his tongue and swallow 
what was said about him. 

At the Hotel de Bourgogne the buffoons produced 
a play taxing Henri with avarice and the great Jewish 
financiers with ruining the country. The latter had 
the mountebanks put in prison and the King ordered 
them to be released.* 

Such, in a few brief pages, is a rapid survey which 
might well have occupied a large volume had space 
permitted, of the most popular monarch who ever met 
his death at the hands of an assassin, and of the city — 
as it was in his time — wherein the assassination took 
place. But before that crime is recounted there are 
other persons to be described who were the nearest to 
Henri IV, in either affection or enmity ; and to the 
one who shared his throne and was the mother of his 
children, even though she never possessed the love that 
should have been hers alone, it is now fitting to turn. 

* L'Estoile's supplements to his Registres journaux ; and the 
Mercure Frangois. 

Note. — In the foregoing description of Paris and its inhabitants 
during Henri's reign, I have followed principally L'Estoile ; Bassom- 
pierre ; Henri Sauval ; Germain Brice ; Dom Felibien ; Lebeuf ; L. Sv 
Mercier ; JournM de HenrilV. [IJRstoile)-, Sorel ; Dreux deRadier; 
Dulaure, and many others. Pierre de L'Estoile kept a diary with 
as much regularity as he rose from his bed or went to it, and he is 
undoubtedly the best diarist of the reigns of Henri and his pre- 
decessor. Bassompierre was of the highest family, a soldier and 
a statesman, and, under Louis XIII., a field-marshal. He was con- 
sidered to be the handsomest man of his time in France. He had 
ample opportunity to compile his memoirs during the twelve years he 
spent in the Bastille, to which Richelieu, in his jealousy, coasigned hims 

79 



CHAPTER II 

THE QUEEN AND HER SURROUNDINGS 

JVIARIE DE MfiDICI, second wife of Henri IV., was 
the daughter of Francis II. de Medici, Grand Duke 
of Tuscany. This man possessed almost every fault 
which can be found in the worst characters of the Latin 
races, and especially in those whose families have risen 
from a somewhat humble origin to a position of rank 
and power. He had succeeded, a year after the birth 
of Marie, to his father's throne, and from that time gave 
the rein to his passions, which were those of cruelty, 
violence, vanity and egotism, whUe his best qualities, 
namely, cultivation and refinement of taste in all things 
artistic, were mostly kept in the background altogether. 
His unfortunate wife, Jeanne of Austria, a grand- 
daughter of the Emperor (then styled Emperor of Ger- 
many) died from his continual brutality and persecu- 
tion, and no sooner did this occur than he espoused the 
famous, and also infamous, Bianca di Capello, with 

whom he had for some time maintained a connection 

80 





Marie de Medici. 



[Facing p. 80 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

which had long been the scandal of all civilized Europe. 
A few years later a fever removed him from the world 
and, some hours after, Bianca di Capello was also gone, 
while the suddenness and unanimity of these deaths 
gave rise to a suspicion which was probably little 
removed from the truth, namely, that both had been 
poisoned by the Grand Duke's most mortal enemies — ■ 
his own subjects. 

To Marie this visitation, or tragedy, whichever it 
might be, was really a boon. Her father was succeeded 
by her uncle, Ferdinand de Medici, who, at the time 
of his accession to the throne and to the possession 
of the enormous wealth of the family, was a Cardinal- 
Deacon of the Holy Roman Church. This position was, 
however, at once resigned, and the ruling power of 
Tuscany assumed by the new Grand Duke who married 
shortly afterwards the Princess Christine of Lorraine. 
She was but sixteen years old and exactly the same 
age as Marie. 

Ferdinand was a man of a very different type from 

his elder brother, he being a jocund and pleasant person, 

fond of pomp, ceremony and good cheer, and fond, 

too, of his young niece ; the affection for her being 

shared by his equally young wife. Consequently, he 

lent himself in every way in his power to furthering 

the chance of Marie's future. He caused her to be 

8i 6 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

well educated and, recognizing that she was now one 
of the most brilliant matches in Europe, set about 
discovering what prince there was to whom she could 
be most fitly allied. The investigations were, how- 
ever, long and varied, owing to different causes. The 
catalogue is not uninteresting. 

Before his own marriage to the Princess Christine 
Ferdinand had thought of the son of the Duke of 
Ferrara as a suitable husband for Marie, but more 
than one government, especially that of Spain, dis- 
approved of the match since Ferrara was opposed 
to Spanish interests in Italy. As a set-off to this inter- 
ference, the King of Spain suggested Farnese, Prince 
of Parma, who was an ally of his own ; but the Prince, 
having other matrimonial views, declined the sugges- 
tion. A little later, again under the influence of Spain, 
the Duke of Braganza was proposed, but a Portuguese 
alliance seemed at the moment unlikely to promise much, 
and Ferdinand was, on this occasion, the one to refuse. 
The Grand Duchess of Tuscany now suggested a 
candidate in a member of her own family, namely, 
the Prince de Vaudemont, but this time it was Marie's 
turn to object to the match though, unless she did not 
consider an alliance with the House of Lorraine of 
sufficient importance, it is difficult to know wherein lay 

the objection. 

82 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

Ferdinand was not, however, to be baulked, and 
the last of these suggestions having been refused by the 
person most concerned, he now brought forward one 
that was, up to this period, the most important of all. 
Marie was offered, with a tremendous dot, to the heir 
to the throne of Austria, but, after innumerable negotia- 
tions, nothing came of it. Meanwhile, the King of 
Spain was still pressing the claims of the Duke of 
Braganza, but since this prince was not at the time a 
reigning one Ferdinand refused to entertain the idea, 
and at this moment there occurred the most extra- 
ordinary, as well as superb, offer yet m.ade from any 
suitor. The Emperor proposed himself as husband 
provided Marie brought with her six hundred thousand 
gold crowns, or, failing this, he again suggested his 
heir on the understanding that he received four hundred 
thousand gold crowns. Marie, however, had no taste 
for either of the illustrious suitors, and Ferdinand, 
suspecting at the same time that the Emperor was 
only making these suggestions with a view to prevent- 
ing the Princess from marrying anyone else, broke off 
all negotiations in that quarter. 

The hour was, however, at hand for Marie to find a 

husband at last. It was time she should do so, since 

she was by now approaching her twenty-seventh year, 

and twenty-seven is late for a princess to be married, 

83 6* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

while at that period it was considered even later than 
it is now. She was, however, well fitted to become 
a bride, being fair, tall, well-favoured, and the possessor 
of excellent health. 

1 Charles IX. of France had died owing the de Medicis, 
who never ceased their banking transactions or any 
other of their commercial pursuits, over forty-five 
thousand ducats (the obligation having been consider- 
ably larger at the beginning of the loan) ; Henri III. 
had either not wanted money or had not been able to 
obtain it ; * but Henri IV., who never possessed any 
money at all until he became King of France, had been 
forced to borrow heavily to carry on his attempts to 
secure the throne, f and he was still endeavouring to 
borrow more, while Ferdinand was continually com- 
plaining of the non-payment of the debts already 
incurred. It was from this state of affairs that an 
astute Churchman, the Cardinal Gondi, whom Henri 
employed to negotiate a farther loan from Ferdinand, 
saw his way to cancel not only the debt of the former 

* Probably the latter, since at the end of his reign he had a difficulty 
in paying his servants and purveyors. 

f De Sancy narrates in his memoirs that it took five troops of 
cavalry and two hundred infantry soldiers to escort from Florence 
to Paris the seventeen waggons containing one of Ferdinand's loans 
to Henri. The sum borrowed was a hundred thousand ordinary 
crowns, equal in those days to about sixty thousand pounds of our 
money in the present day. 

84 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

but to place the niece of the latter on the throne of 
France. He informed the King that, to see his niece 
become Queen of the most powerful country in Europe 
after England, Ferdinand would be willing to part 
with a dowry of one hundred thousand gold crowns 
(an enormous sum), and Henri was enchanted with 
the suggestion. Gabrielle d'Estrees was dead and 
Henriette d'Entragues had taken her place and, at 
this time, held in her possession a written promise 
from her lover that she should become his Queen. 
But a sheet of paper with a promise of marriage 
scrawled on it was a poor opponent of what was 
a stupendous sum of money, and Ferdinand being 
delighted with the great prospects now looming be- 
fore the House of the de Medicis negotiations on 
the subject at once took place. These negotiations 
were long and tiresome ; too long to be more than 
mentioned in a work of these dimensions, but they 
were at last brought to a satisfactory termination. The 
King did not get the amount spoken of by Gondi, but 
what he did receive was a sum of eighty thousand gold 
crowns, of which sixty thousand were carried with 
Marie to France, while the whole of the debts of that 
country, from the time of Charles IX, to the day of 
the marriage, were cancelled. The young Grand- 
Duchess, who accompanied Marie to Marseilles and 

85 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

was in charge of the specie, handed it over there and 
was careful to take a receipt for it. 

The dowry was the largest any Queen of France had 
ever yet brought to her husband. 

That Marie should have attained to the dignity of 
Queen of France would have been impossible had it 
not been for the fact that Henri required two things, 
namely, an heir to the throne he had won with so much 
difficulty, and a considerable amount of money to 
replenish the impoverished resources of his country, 
and that in her was alone to be found the person who 
could undoubtedly supply the second want and was 
young enough to satisfy the first. From Marie not 
only the money, but the successor was forthcoming. 
A son who afterwards became Louis XIII. was born, 
and the five other children followed regularly. 

There were, however, many obstacles to be sur- 
mounted ere the daughter of the late Grand Duke 
had any chance of becoming the wife of Henri. One, 
it is true, was already overcome, namely, the existence 
of Gabrielle d'Estrees (of whose death an account will 
be given later), since it is undoubted that, had she 
not died, Henri would have married her if he could 
have obtained the consent of Marguerite de Valois 
(and that of the Pope, which was, however, certain) to 
a divorce. Another obstruction, almost equally as great, 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

was the contempt in which the King held the compara- 
tively modern position of the de Medicis, and, above all, 
the hatred in which he held the memory of Catherine 
de Medici. That the latter feeling should exist was not 
extraordinary. Catherine had never liked the politi- 
cally-arranged marriage which had taken place between 
Henri and her daughter Marguerite — Henri being at 
the moment a Protestant. She had prevented him 
from leaving Paris when he was warned to do so before 
the outbreak of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, and 
had, instead, made him a prisoner in the Louvre, and 
afterwards in the Chateau de Vincennes. Moreover, 
Henri had very good reasons for supposing that his 
mother, who preceded him to Paris to be present at 
his wedding with Marguerite and died there with great 
suddenness, had been murdered through wearing a 
poisoned pair of gloves which the Queen-Mother was 
supposed to have had prepared for the purpose. The 
family of his second wife would be, therefore, as 
obnoxious to the King as that of the first had been, 
since they were almost identical ; and as it had obtained 
the reputation of being the most prolific race of mur- 
derers and poisoners that Europe had ever produced, 
not even excepting the Borgias, it was not possible 
that he should look forward with much pleasure to 

being again united to the de Medicis by marriage, 

87 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

There was, however, always in his mind the other 
fact which was so repugnant to him. Himself the son 
of Antoine de Bourbon and the direct descendant, on 
one side, of the first Bourbon, and heir of the ancient 
Kings of Navarre on the other — ^he succeeding to that 
throne through his mother* — as well as being now the 
undisputed King of France, he had but a very poor 
opinion of the social position of the family of Florentine 
traders from whom his second wife, that was to be, was 
sprung. He could not forget that these traders were the 
least important of all Christian rulers bearing the rank 
of Prince, nor that, not more than eighty years before, 
they would have had to stand bareheaded before any 
person who bore the title of one. 

On the other hand, money was wanted badly. He 
put, therefore, his animosity against the family, and 
also his contempt for it, in the background, and as 
on the death of Gabrielle Marguerite de Valois had 

* Daughter and sole heiress of Henri d'Albret, King of Navarre, 
and of Marguerite, sister of Francis I., of France. She was called in her 
early days La Mignonne des Rois, because her father and her uncle, 
Francis, strove to show which could cherish her the most. Her father 
extorted a vow from her that she should always force herself to sing 
on giving birth to a child so that he or she should become valiant 
and powerful. She took the vow and kept it, and, in the case of 
Henri IV., it was justified. She was the principal hope and support 
of the Protestants until her death in 1572, aged forty-four. She had 
previously been married, as a child, to William, third Duke of Cleves, 
but the marriage was never consummated and was dissolved by Pope 
Paul III. 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

agreed to a divorce to which she would never consent 
while that person, whom she termed sale et vilaine, 
continued to exist, the contract of marriage between 
Henri and Marie was signed in the Pitti Palace in 
Florence on the 25th of AprU, 1600, the witnesses being 
the Archbishop of Pisa, the Duca di Bracciano, and the 
French Ambassador. Five months later the Due de 
Bellegarde publicly espoused the Princess on behalf of 
the King, and the Cardinal Aldobrandini, representing 
the Pope, bestowed the nuptial benediction on the 
union. 

Although Marie had been well educated she did not 
know a word of French on coming to France ; but 
when her marriage with Henri was at last arranged it 
was thought well for her to make an attempt to acquire 
the language. She was, consequently, given some 
French books and a dictionary to study, and the volume 
she selected was entitled, Clorinde, ou I'amante tuee 
par son amant, probably because the title was not 
unlike what it would be in Italian, or because it sug- 
gested the style of book which young Italian ladies were 
in the habit of freely poring over at the period. Marie, 
however, never to the last became proficient in French, 
but spoke a mixture of that language and Italian, while 
she never wrote in the former if there was the slightest 

hope that her correspondent could understand the 

89 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

latter. It is a strange coincidence that neither the 
King nor the Queen spoke perfectly the tongue of the 
country on whose throne they sat, though the same 
thing has been known to occur in other lands and at 
other times.*. 

There are numerous descriptions still in existence of 
the triumphant manner in which the new Queen pro- 
gressed from Florence to Paris, partly by sea across the 
Mediterranean and then by land.f To these is also 
added a description of the suite that accompanied her. 
Amongst it were two people destined to exercise a 
terrible influence over the young Queen and a fatal 
one over France, and to meet at last with ends as awful 
as any that have ever overwhelmed human beings. The 
first and, as regards Marie, the most important of the 
two, was Leonora Galigai, who travelled in the Queen's 
suite, partly as companion and partly as maid of honour. 
The second was a subtle, well-favoured Florentine, 
named Concino Concini, who also accompanied the 
Royal cortege in the capacity of secretary or gentleman- 
in-waiting. Both were humbly born, Leonora being 
the daughter of a locksmith, and Concini the son of a 

* Matthieu, who had seen her often, narrates Marie's ignorance of 
French in his Histoire de France, latest editions. 

t She was borne from Marseilles in a litter drawn, until she reached 
Paris, by Italian footmen. Henri put an end to this cruel practice 
and substituted mules for the human beasts of burden. (Matthieu. j 

90 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

notary ; yet at his death he had become the Marquis 
d'Ancre and a Marshal of France, and she, who early 
became his wife, naturally shared his honours and was 
generally spoken of as Madame La Marechale. Concini 
was strikingly handsome, Leonora was repulsively 
ugly, or, as she has been described, hideous.* Yet 
hers was the brain that dominated the heights of their 
temporary fortune and, on being tried for her life pre- 
viously to being put to death for sorcery, it was she 
who, on being asked to state what was her influence 
over the Queen, is reported to have first uttered the 
oft-quoted remark : " Nothing beyond the power of 
a strong mind over a weak one."t 

From the first arrival in Paris of these people in the 
suite of the Queen, Henri mistrusted them, as it would 

* It is, however, difi&cult to accept the description of Leonora given 
by a contemporary historical writer, and edited by Edouard Tricotel, in 
his Varidt^s Biographiques. He says of her : " She was blonde Uke a jay, 
she had the locks of Medusa ; her head shone like pumice-stone (!) ; her 
eyes were green like fire, she had the nose of an elephant, teeth 
long and pointed, the hands of a harpy, the feet of a lobster, body 
spotted like a buffalo and a mouth small like the opening of an oven." 
Tricotel is regarded as a serious collector, but his seriousness scarcely 
appears here ! It should also be stated that many Italian writers 
credit both Leonora and her husband with birth superior to that which 
is generally assigned to them. (The italics are the author's. J 

t It is doubtful if she used the expression. The Abbe de Livry 
(an Italian named de Lizza), who was always in her company, in giving 
evidence against her at her trial, stated that " La Marechale possessed 
a mind which exercised great power over feeble ones," and this remark 
probably led to Leonora being credited with the above phrase. Talle- 
mant des Reaux is the only person who attributes it to her, and even 
he states that he doubts whether she ever uttered it. 

91 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

seem he mistrusted most Florentines, and, as it after- 
wards turned out, with great reason.* He saw at once 
that the humbly-born dame de compagnie had a strange 
influence over her mistress, and he discerned that she 
was early beginning to set the Queen against the lady 
who had now replaced Gabrielle in his wandering heart, 
namely, Henriette d'Entragues. He also recognized 
that this was not a task difficult of attainment. Inde- 
pendently of any natural jealousy which a newly- 
married woman, or, indeed, any woman who was a 
wife, might feel at the surroundings amidst which she 
found herself, the Queen was of a somewhat dull and 
heavy disposition ; she was also very severe on what 
the French termed lightly, " le chapitre de la galanterie," 
and her moroseness was not likely to be much brightened 
by all the intrigues going on around her, headed by her 
own volatile husband. In sober truth, whatever love 
affairs might have come to her notice in Florence during 
her maidenhood must have sunk into almost insignificance 
beside all that surrounded her in the Court of the first 
of the Bourbon Kings. Maids-of -honour who forgot 

* On the arrival in Paris of Don Jean de Medici (a natural uncle 
of the Queen), Henri asked him how he could get rid of these persons, 
and Don Jean suggested bluntly that he should have them assassinated, 
that being the shortest way. Henri considered this summary method 
and talked it over with Sully but afterwards discarded the idea on 
the ground that all the vindictive Italians in Paris would be added 
to the number of other murderers awaiting the opportunit/ to slay 
himj 

92 



The Queeo and her Surrounding^s 

themselves were, therefore, under her rule, dismissed 
in a manner that for a long time, if not for ever, pre- 
vented them from showing their faces amidst their 
own society again ; in many cases courtiers who had 
paid these young ladies too much attention stood in 
very great danger of losing their heads, and, had it 
not been for the King, who, in such cases as these, was 
not inclined to be too severe, they would probably have 
done so. 

It was the business of "La Galigai," as she was then 
termed, to foment such matters, to throw out hints 
against every woman at Court who was placed too high 
for her taste or was likely to be so eventually, and to 
clear the way as much as was possible for her own 
advancement. Here again, however, Henri stood in 
her path, since it was sufficient for Leonora to make a 
suggestion to cause him to veto it. Yet even he, the 
man whom any handsome woman could twist round 
her finger, was at last, by the wiles and artifices of the 
woman who was undoubtedly the most Ul-favoured of 
aU at Court, induced to consent to almost everything 
she desired. 

In spite of the wealth which Marie de Medici brought 
to her husband, and the fact that she provided him 
with an heir to the throne as well as other children,, 
her life was far from a happy one, owing principally to 

93 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

that husband's admiration for other women, an 
admiration that has been described, and, in all like- 
lihood, truthfully so, as nothing short of a mania. She 
is reported to have said often that his infatuation for 
Henriette d'Entragues had poisoned the whole of her 
existence since she came into France, but she might 
well have coupled the names of many other ladies with 
that of the principal favourite. The legitimate pangs 
which the wife suffered at the hands of the mistress 
were, however, shared by the mistress, not only at the 
hands of the wife, but of rivals. Nor could the brusque 
good-humour of Henri appease either Marie or Hen- 
riette ; so that, in his turn, he, too, enjoyed but little 
peace in his house, especially as, with a surprising lack 
of delicacy, or even decency, he eventually installed 
Henriette under the same roof — that of the Louvre — 
which sheltered him and the Queen. It is stated by 
Sully that the scenes between the King and her were 
interminable, and that never more than eight days 
passed without a violent one, while once the latter was 
aroused to such fury that she rushed at Henri with 
her hand raised to strike him, and was only prevented 
from doing so by Sully himself. Always rough, the 
latter seized the arm of the Queen so violently (while 
exclaiming that Henri had the power to execute her 
within half an hour) that she cried out in pain, and, 

94 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

holding her arm, would say nothing more than : " You 
have lifted your hand to me. You have lifted your 
hand to me." 

Henri's partisans have, however, invariably taken 
the line that he would have been a better husband 
had Marie been a more congenial wife, and it is certain 
that, whatever the latter's wrongs may have been, she 
talked about them far too much and far too openly. 
The Court was kept in a continual state of excitement 
as to what scenes might occur next, or what woman of 
rank — and beauty — would be the next to be flouted 
by the indignant wife. Since it was the self-appointed 
function of Leonora to pour into the ears of her mistress 
not only the story of the King's actual infidelities but 
also stories of infidelities that had never occurred, it 
is not surprising that the courtiers had enough gossip 
to keep them interested. 

Short of his particular failings in the one respect, 
added to his love of gambling, Henri was an agreeable 
husband, a man of a light, pleasant nature and, in 
spite of the roughness of his early life and training, a 
very perfect gentleman — un vrai roL He was also very 
considerate for the Queen's dignity and for her future, 
which, he never failed to assert, would long outstretch 
his own. He always spoke to her as one who was abso- 
lutely certain to outlive him, and the counsel he gave 

95 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

her as to how she should arrange her existence and 

that of their children was excellent and far-seeing. He 

also warned her to have more command over her 

temper and disposition, and was wont to tell her that 

" the end of his life would be the beginning of her 

troubles," and that, if she and the Dauphin — whose 

nature, he observed, was obstinate, harsh and cold — 

did not control themselves, the crown to which he 

had succeeded by right and might would probably slip 

through their hands. In the Queen's case his forecast 

came true ; in that of his son it would also have been 

realized had it not suited Richelieu — as yet an unrisen 

star — to support him for his own ends. 

Nothing could, however, alter the Queen's disposition 

or subdue her justifiable hatred of Henriette d'Entragues, 

and the scenes between the two rivals were always 

very forcible. Indeed, the once amiable, if always 

heavy, character of Marie seems to have become 

thoroughly soured against all who should have been 

dear to her. It has frequently been narrated that — 

so embittered was she at last — for four years she refused 

to kiss the future King Louis. Later on, she subjected 

him to occasional chastisement, though afterwards she 

would bow reverently before him and address him as 

" Sire," and " Your Majesty," salutations which drew 

from the youthful monarch the remark that he would 

96 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

prefer less studied courtesy of greeting and more 
regard for his bodUy feelings.* 

Had Henri not been the offender in all the domestic 
embroilments, it would be permissible to say that he 
bore the various scenes which occurred with extreme 
good humour ; but, as he could easily have prevented 
them by altering his own conduct, to him must be 
attributed the blame of their frequency. He had, 
indeed, some justice on his side when he stated that, so 
long as Marie continued to countenance the Concinis 
and several other foreigners about the Court, he could 
not regard her as either a loving or a dutiful wife. Yet, 
on Sully suggesting one of those short measures he 
was prone to adopt in critical cases, namely, to send 

* Besides Henri's children by Marie de Medici, Gabrielle, and 
Henriette, he left by Jacqueline du Breuil, whom he created Comtesse 
de Moret, Antoine de Bourbon, Comte de Moret, who was killed at 
twenty-five years of age at the battle of Castelnaudary. By Charlotte 
des Essarts, Comtesse de Romorentin, he left Jeanne, who became 
Abbess of Fontevrault, and Henriette, who became Abbess of Chelles. 
All his children — those of Marie and of the other ladies — were treated 
well and kindly by him and mixed together more or less on the same 
footing ; none was allowed to address him as " Sire," but always 
as " Father." Of those who chiefly incurred his displeasure, the 
Dauphin was reproved and punished the most, his sour, ungracious 
nature and his love of cruelty causing Henri more pain than he ever 
suffered through the others. Twice he felt obliged to administer 
personal chastisement to this prince, once for begging him to have a 
nobleman whom he did not hke beheaded, and once for having beaten 
in the head of a wounded sparrow with a large stone. He also felt im- 
pelled to write to Madame de Montglat, the governess of the royal 
children, to tell her that she must be more severe with the Dauphin 
and that she must whip him well when he misbehaved, and do so 
in such a m,3,nner that he should appreciate the correction^ 

97 7 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

all the Italians back across the mountains, exile others, 
and chase the whole family of the d'Entragues out of 
France, Henri simply said that he would ask for nothing 
better but did not see how it could be done. It would, 
nevertheless, appear that, so far as the Florentine 
hangers-on were concerned, it might easily have been 
done, since at this very time the Grand Duke was 
writing to his niece and telling her that she was laying 
up a rod for her own back by the manner in which she 
allowed such a creature as Leonora Galigai to influence 
her. 

The affray in which the Queen attempted to strike 
the King seems, however, to have strung him up to 
desperation. He announced that he would not tolerate 
"this woman" (the Queen) any longer, and that, 'bag 
and baggage,' she should be sent back to her own 
country. But Sully, who cared nothing for Marie, 
and had more than once been treated by her as though 
he were no better than an upper-servant,* again poured 
oil on the troubled waters by reminding him of the 
children and their future. Richelieu, whose pen was 

* Sully appears to have been unfortunate in his intercourse with the 
various ladies connected with Henri IV. Gabrielle d'Estrees spoke 
of him as a " menial," and Henriette d'Entragues treated him as though 
he were one. Each had some reason for doing so. He was Gabrielle's 
most bitter opponent, while he tore up the first promise of marriage 
that Henri gave Henriette — a document of which Henri instantly 
wrote out a duplicate. 

98 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

as mordant as his disposition, has a good deal to say 
on these matters in his memoirs, while, as regards 
Henri's idea of getting rid of Marie, he utters the 
philosophical remark that " Rage often makes us say 
things that nothing in the world would cause us to 
perform." 

After these instances of the far from connubial state 
in which the royal couple lived, it may come as a sur- 
prise to many — though not, perhaps, to those who are 
well acquainted with the world and the workings of 
human nature — when they learn that, in the depths of 
their hearts, Henri and his wife had a considerable 
affection for each other. The truth is that Marie was 
proud of her husband and his great position, and of 
the manner in which he had won it, while, being herself 
a pure woman who had never cared for any other man, 
the whole strength of a nature willing to love and 
desiring to be loved went out to the hero whose wife 
she had become before she ever saw him. Also, the 
strongest link that can bind man to woman had been 
forged between them — he was the father of her children. 
On the other hand, Henri possessed a remarkable 
nature. He loved such home-comforts as a King ever 
has the opportunity of enjoying — he, too, was not for- 
getful that his hearth could only be shared by the 
woman he had married, by her with whom his interests 

99 7* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

were most identical : the woman who had given him 
the children who also shared that home and played 
about his knees. Yet, caring for her in this manner, 
there was in his being the strange, insatiable desire for 
the possession of other women's love, mingled with 
the impossibility of his being true to any one of them, 
as well as his admiration for all forms of female beauty, 
though it has been said that not one of his favourites 
was ever actually beautiful. To which weakness must 
be added his delight in their wit and mirth — though 
they all teased him, abused him, and spoke insultingly 
of each of his wives by turn — and his pleasure in always 
having some illicit intrigue on hand. In truth, he was 
a man well fitted, on one side, for the calm enjoyments 
of domesticity, yet with, on the other, so strange a 
fibre in his nature that delirious joys in which no spark 
of domesticity could find a place were the sweetest 
morsels of his tempestuous life. Henriette d'Entragues 
once exclaimed that, when all was said and done, she 
was nothing but the King's plaything (though " play- 
thing " was not the word she used), and, in saying so, 
she spoke truly. 

With these feelings in each of their hearts — and if, 
at the same time, it had pleased Heaven to remove 
Henriette d'Entragues from the earth — there might have 
been almost a prospect of something like domestic bliss 

100 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

between Henri and Marie. Yet there was still in exist- 
ence, and always would be, a vast obstacle outside 
Henri's successive amours which renders necessary the 
word " almost." That obstacle was created by the 
children of Henri, who were not also those of Marie, yet 
all of whom the former was determined to have treated 
like the others. Some of them were legitimatized, 
and all were educated in the same manner as the Dauphin 
and his brothers and sisters. Indeed, the Due de 
Vendome, eldest son of Henri and Gabrielle, bore an 
almost royal appellation when he was termed " Cesar- 
Monsieur," instead of the absolutely royal title of 
" Monsieur," which from early days was always that 
of the King's, or future King's, nearest brother. 
Bassompierre, in those memoirs for the composi- 
tion of which he, unhappily, found so much time, 
extends himself very considerably on this subject, 
and relates many interesting matters in connection 
with it. He dilates on the hateful character of the 
Duke, while mentioning what may be considered as 
an extraordinary fact, namely, that while the children 
of Gabrielle — who was, except where Sully was con- 
cerned, an even-tempered, amiable creature — were all 
of a detestable character, those of Henriette — who 
was bitter, vindictive and quarrelsome — were easy 
and pleasant to live with. He tells us, also, as do 

lOI 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

countless others, of the grief with which Marie regarded 
the close contact of her children with those of the mis- 
tresses ; of how she long resisted writing to them a§ 
" their mother," and of how it was not until after the 
death of Henri that she would speak of " her nephew," 
de Vendome, or " her niece," de Verneuil. 

Meanwhile, Marie was an absolute tool in the hands 
of her dame de compagnie. The illegitimate brother of 
the late King (Henri III.), who was Archbishop of Rouen, 
dying when Marie had become Queen Regent, one of 
that ecclesiastic's offices, the Abbey of Marmoutier, 
was given to the brother of her favourite, Leonora. 
Before, however, that person could take possession of 
the great benefice it was necessary that he, who was an 
ignorant man, should acquire the simple arts of reading 
and writing — an achievement which he never succeeded 
in accomplishing. Nevertheless, he was afterwards 
promoted to the Archbishopric of Tours. A little 
later, Concini was himself presented with the Governor- 
ship of Bourg-en-Bresse, in addition to numerous other 
offices he possessed. It was, however, discovered that 
the position was not vacant at the moment, since the 
actual governor was, though ill, not dead ; and Marie 
acceded with a very bad grace to that nobleman's refusal I 
to resign his post for the benefit of the favourite's 
husband. 

102 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

As, however, these adventurers played no particular 
part, so far as is absolutely known, in the terrible tragedy 
to which is owing the inception of this book, neither 
would have been introduced into it were it not for the 
desire of showing of what a weak and plastic nature 
the Queen was, and of how, in after years, the people 
were willing to believe that she was not totally ignorant 
of the Court plot that was aimed against the King's 
life and would undoubtedly have succeeded had it 
not been anticipated from another quarter. It may, 
nevertheless, be said that, in spite of all suspicions which 
existed on this subject in the minds of her contempor- 
aries, and which have been shared by many persons, 
especially historians of later days, there is not the 
slightest proof that Marie even knew that the assassina- 
tion of the King was seriously contemplated by those 
who surrounded him at the time it took place. The 
statement of the Due de Vendome was probably regarded 
by her as the idle prattle of a boy of sixteen ; while her 
husband had lived so long a charmed life, and had 
so fortunately evaded the ill-constructed, and worse 
enacted, plots to slay him, that she had doubtless been 
soothed into indifference. Consequently, when she be- 
sought him not to quit the Louvre on the day when his 
murder did at last take place, she was, in all likelihood, 

making a request which she had never made before 

103 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

and only made at this time in consequence of Henri's 
own indecision. 

It has, however, been brought against her that her 
importunities to Henri to allow her to be consecrated 
Queen — which event, on his at last consenting, took 
place at vSt. Denis on the day before the murder — dis- 
close, or, at least, hint strongly at, the fact that she 
knew his doom was close at hand, and was, therefore, 
desirous of making herself secure — before the fatal 
event should happen — of the Regency of the Kingdom 
and the control of the infant son who would then be 
King. But this is an unsound argument. At the time 
of Henri's death, Marie de Medici had been his wife for 
ten years, and it is not unreasonable to suppose that, 
during those years, she' had frequently put forward 
her undoubted right to receive the final and most im- 
portant of all ceremonies connected with her royalty. 
Indeed, it is well known that she had often asserted 
her claim to this which was her due and, on refusal 
upon the score of expense by her husband — who never 
counted the cost where his own pleasures and self- 
indulgences were concerned ! — had borne her dis- 
appointment with bitter resignation. But, at this time, 
there was an added reason for the desire — quite outside 
any fear, or even knowledge, that the King's death was 

close at hand. He was, on the day after that death 

104 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

actually occurred, to have set out on the campaign 
against Spain and Austria, and to have taken the lead 
in the most important warfare in which he would have 
been concerned since he crushed The League at Ivry 
and obtained at last the undisputed possession of 
the throne of France. Should he, therefore, have fallen 
in that campaign, and Marie still have been an un- 
crowned Queen, it is undoubted that the Etats-generaux 
would not, and, perhaps, could not, have conferred 
the Regency on her ; the boy-king, Louis, would not 
have been placed in her hands during his minority, 
and she would have been but a colourless figure of 
royalty in France from the moment of her husband's 
death. 

Finally, as regards her innocence of any complicity in 
whatever schemes were in existence against the King, it 
has to be remembered that, with his death, Marie de 
Medici lost far more than she could ever again possess, 
the position of a Queen-Consort being infinitely higher 
and more important than that of a Queen-Regent, while, 
since she was not the woman to allow herself to form 
any sentimental attachment for another man, even 
had she been inwardly prompted to do so, there ceased 
with Henri's life the slight experience of domesticity 
and companionship that had ever been enjoyed by 

her. 

105 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

The position of Queen-Regent never became an agree- 
able one to Marie. From the first she recognized how 
much she was a cipher in the hands of the arrogant 
and turbulent nobility who surrounded her, and also 
in those of the intriguing Leonora Galigai, The ruffianly 
Due d'^pernon tyrannized over her, though, later, he 
assisted her to escape from the Chateau de Blois, to 
which her son had consigned her. Concini, the Italian 
adventurer, who had now risen to high rank and wealth 
and was first Minister, browbeat her while, at the same 
time, he did not scruple to forge his wife's name to any 
drafts for money from Marie that he might require. 
Richelieu — who owed his first advance in life to Leonora, 
who, in the height of her power, selected him for the 
office of Grand, or High, Almoner — thwarted her, 
and de Luynes, who, later, planned and carried out 
the murder of Concini with the full knowledge of Louis 
XIII., and then succeeded to all his offices and many 
of his properties, ignored her orders. 

It was some time after Henri's death that Marie 

began to have considerable doubts of what her future 

position might be in France, and, at this time, also, 

that she began to put by as much wealth as possible, 

with a view to providing for that future, should she 

be forced to fly the country. Jewels of all description 

were bought by her, diamonds being the principal 

io6 



The Queen and her Surroundings 

purchases ; money was changed into drafts on bankers 
in various cities of Italy, Holland, and other countries, 
and investments were made almost daily — anywhere 
out of France. Yet, as events proved, hardly one 
crown-piece and no jewels, except those she had with 
her at Blois and carried away with her when she escaped 
from the castle, ever benefited her. The Italian in- 
vestments were, by the order of France, never repaid 
to her, nor, on the other hand, were they until long 
afterwards handed over to France itself, since the govern- 
ments of the various Italian States claimed that they had 
been sent through the hands of Leonora, among whose 
relatives the sums of money would eventually be dis- 
tributed as her property. This, some usually well- 
informed authors state, eventually occurred, though 
little proof, if any, is furnished on the matter. 

Fleeing ultimately to Cologne, her health seriously 
impaired, her money gone, or, at least, unattainable, 
she died on a bed of straw in what has been described 
by numerous writers as "a mere garret," attended 
only by two faithful maidservants. The house in which 
this garret was situated was one inherited by Rubens 
from his father ; Rubens, whom she had once invited 
to Paris as her guest to decorate the Luxembourg 
and paint the allegorical subjects on its ceilings, and 

whom she was then enabled to load with the highest 

107 



Fate of Henry of Navarre 

honours and vast sums of money ! She ! who had once 
been the richest heiress in Europe ; she, who had sat 
on the throne of France as the wife of the great King, 
and was, at her death, the mother of the then King — 
a cold-blooded, heartless creature who allowed her to 
perish thus in want and obscurity ! 

Authorities : — L'Estoile, Journal. Fontenay-Mareuil, Mdmoires. 
De Morgues, Les deux faces de la vie et de la mart de Marie de 
Mtfdicis. Due de St. Simon, ParallHe des trois premiers Bourbons 
— a mine of historical wealth, though written by the aristocratic 
and scathing author more than a hundred years after the first Bourbon 
came to the throne. Sully, Giconomies Royales. Halphen, 
Lettres in^dites du roi Henri IV. Buonarroti, Descrizione delle 
felicissime nozze di Madama Maria Mddici. Richelieu, Mtfmoires. 
Mifmoires du Due de Bellegarde. La Serre. Loiseleur, L'Evasion 
d'une reine, 1873. Batifol, L.,La Vie intime d'une Reine de France. 
Paris, N. D. Recueil de Lettres de S. A. R. Catherine de Bourbon, sceur 
de Henri IV., Bibliotheque Nationale (Unpublished). B. Zeller, 
Henri IV. et Marie de M4dicis, etc., etc. 



108 




Sully. 



\^Facing p. 109 



CHAPTER III 

SULLY AND THE DEATH OF GABRIELLE d'eSTREES 

l/TAXIMILIEN DE BETHUNE, Baron de Rosny, 
Due de Sully, Marshal of France and the 
favourite Minister of Henri IV., was born on December 
13th, 1560, at Rosny. He was descended from an 
ancient and honourable family which, by its connections, 
was second to none below royalty in France and, by its 
antiquity, was the equal of the royal houses of Valois 
and Bourbon. The name was distinguished as early 
as the Crusades, in which several of the de Bethimes 
took part, and, as time went on, alliances were formed 
with the princes of France, the Emperors of Constanti- 
nople, the Counts of Flanders, the Dukes of Lorraine, 
the Kings of England, Scotland, Castille and Jerusalem, 
the house of Austria and the family of Courtenai — which 
had once possessed the throne of Byzantium — and those 
of de Montmorency, de ChatiHon, de Melun and de 
Horn.* 

* Sully claimed to be descended from the Beatons of Scotland, 
and sometimes arrogantly stated that this great family was descended 

109 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Born a Protestant, he early attracted the attention 
of the future King of Navarre and France, and, fron? 
that time, rose so rapidly that he soon obtained and 
held the position of the most prominent subject in the 
latter country, and, indeed, of the whole of Europe. 

As a child of twelve, it was his fate to find himself 
in the middle of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, and 
he owed his salvation to what was, probably, the first 
piece of that astute diplomacy which, in after years, 
he carried to such successful heights. Being a scholar 
at the College de Bourgogne, though not a resident in it, 
he was awakened at three o'clock in the morning by the 
ringing of the church-bells, the shrieks and cries of those 
being murdered, the reflection of flames from some of 
the houses that had been set on fire, and the discharge 
of muskets. As he was lodging in the house of a 
Protestant woman with whom he had been placed by 
his father, it at once occurred to him that this would 
be no safe shelter, especially as the air resounded with 
cries of " Tue ! Tue ! aux Huguenots," " Guise," 
" Tavannes," etc., and, consequently, putting on his 
scholar's gown and carrying ostensibly under his arm a 

from his, the de Bethunes. It has been said of him that he had the 
" wild British " air and a " cold blue eye," which was also considered 
by many on the Continent as typical of our nation. Marbault re- 
marked of him, though not in connection with his British appearance, 
" that he struck terror everywhere and that his look and his behaviour 
frightened everyone." 

no 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estre'es 

large Book of Hours such as the Roman Catholics used, 
he set out for the college. On the way, " wading 
through blood," he was three times stopped by the 
Garde de Corps of Charles IX., and on each occasion 
the possession of the sacred book beloved by those of 
the Faith to which he and his family were opposed, 
saved his life. At the college door the porter refused 
to let him in until the Book of Hours again served as 
his passport, and, even when he had obtained admission, 
he narrowly escaped being slain by two infuriated priests 
who were intoning the " Sicilian Vespers " hymn, and 
who cried out that they believed he was a Protestant 
and that they would slay even babes at the breast who 
were born of parents of that Faith. The Principal 
of the college was, however, a man of a different stamp, 
and, aided by the boy's possession of the book, was 
enabled to preserve his life.* 

From the age of sixteen Sully accompanied Henri 
and was present with him in most of the campaigns that 
took place, the young man being then an infantry volun- 
teer. At the celebrated battle of Ivry, he served as a 
cavalry officer and carried the standard of a relative 
who commanded a force he had raised. In this re- 
nowned and almost decisive affray Sully fought by the 



* Sully, De Bury, Anquetil, Thomas. Histories of Henri IV. ; de 
Thou, etc. 

Ill 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

side of Henri, had two horses killed under him and 
received seven wounds, being afterwards left for dead 
on the field. His first intimation that The League 
was defeated was when he recovered his senses and 
observed four of the enemy by his side, who, on seeing 
that he was an officer of their conqueror's forces, in- 
stantly implored him not to have them made prisoners 
or to execute them. 

He became from this time the constant companion 
of the King, fighting for him and always doing so by 
his side : advising him and showing his astuteness in 
almost every counsel he gave, although he was careful 
to invariably speak of Henri's own voice as his oracle, 
Henri, on his part, thoroughly recognized the cleverness 
of the astute, if shockingly brusque, man whom he had 
attracted to his fortunes, and, had it not been that 
vSuUy hated the two mistresses who, of all the number, 
had come so near to attaining the position of Queen, 
it is doubtful if an unpleasant word would have ever 
been exchanged between them. But this side of Henri's 
life — as well as the enormous expense it entailed on 
the public funds — was hateful to the Minister whose 
own domestic existence was blameless. He was twice 
married, and it is owing to the haughty and turbulent 
nature of his second wife that the terrible suspicion fell 
upon him that Gabrielle d'Estrees met her death with 

112 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

his sanction, partly in punishment for her arrogant 
treatment of the future Duchesse de Sully and partly 
because of Sully's determination that a woman of the 
character of Gabrielle should never sit on the throne 
of France. 

With regard to this personage, a remarkable and 
utterly unnecessary amount of foolish sentimentality 
has been attached to her name through numerous 
generations, while a sympathy has been accorded to her 
supposed romantic career which was not due to it, even 
at the time of that worse than ordinarily painful event, 
her death. Nor does there appear to have been, as yet, 
any inclination on the part of those who practise this 
sentimentality, or bestow this mawkish sympathy on 
Gabrielle, to make themselves acquainted with the true 
history of the unfortunate woman who had once almost 
attained the highest position that any of her sex can 
hold. It is well, therefore, to give in this chapter 
on Sully a sketch of her career and character — as far 
as the bounds of propriety will permit — which may 
possibly correct the misunderstanding under which many 
writers, and far more readers, outside France as well 
as in, have laboured long. 

Gabrielle d'Estrees was the daughter of Jean Antoine 

d'Estrees, Marquis de Coeuvres, and of his wife Frangoise 

Babou de la Bourdaisiere, and was, as her father was 

113 8 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

wont to exclaim in anything but a whisper, one of " une 
pepiniere des filles mal sages." Her mother undoubtedly 
contributed little towards helping her to become Men 
sage, since, at the age of sixteen, Gabrielle was, by the 
aid of the Due d'Epernon, " sold " by her to Henri HI. 
for the sum of six thousand crowns, of which two 
thousand were stolen by the nobleman (Montigny) 
who was sent to pay it to the Marquise de Coeuvres. 
Henry IH. appears to have tired of her very soon and 
she to have become disgusted with the peculiar habits 
of the last of the Valois kings, whereupon her insatiable 
mother again handed her over to a rich Italian financier 
in Paris, named Zamet (in whose house she was once 
supposed, but erroneously so, to have died eventually), 
and, later on, again for a price, to the Cardinal de Guise, 
who treated her well for a year and then discarded 
her. 

The affections of this once much-sympathized-with 
heroine were next transferred to the Due de Longue- 
ville, and afterwards to the Due de Bellegarde — the only 
man for whom Gabrielle ever felt a spark of love — if 
she ever felt one for any person — and he, in his desire 
to stand well in the favour of the King, sounded her 
praises so loudly that he discovered too late that, except 
for occasional secret meetings, he had lost her for 
ever. 

114 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

Henri was at this time greatly smitten with the 
charms of Marie Claudine de BeauviUiers, who managed 
to combine with her affection for him the sacred office of 
Abbess of Montmartre, but resigned that position at 
his request. But whether the King's advancing years, 
or his great nose, or his pendulous lip failed to please 
Gabrielle when de Bellegarde took Henri to see her, 
or whether she was but playing a part such as a young 
woman, whose value in gold crowns had already been 
estimated more than once, would well know how to 
play, Gabrielle herself testified anything but interest 
in her latest admirer. If this coldness were really only 
acting, she could have chosen no role better calculated 
to bring the amorous King to her feet. The colder and 
the more indifferent she appeared to be — or as she may 
actually have been, since Henri possessed no manly 
beauty while the Due de Bellegarde was in the prime of 
life and handsome, and, greater than all to Gabrielle, 
rich — the more Henri was inflamed. Forgetting the 
abbess at once, he endeavoured to see his new love daily ; 
a desire difficult to gratify, since, at this time, Coeuvres 
was surrounded by the troops of The League (never 
finally subdued until 1593), and for him to have fallen 
into their hands would have meant the total failure 
of his cause, and, undoubtedly, the final ruin of his 
hopes of ever possessing the throne of France. Yet, 

115 8* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

even the prospect of the loss of a second crown that 
must, on his conversion to Roman Catholicism, be 
added to that of the small one of Navarre which he 
already possessed, could not daunt him where a new 
passion was concerned. The story has been told so 
often, and by so many different pens — from that of 
Perefixe, Archbishop of Paris (1662-70), to that of 
Tallemant des Reaux — the French Horace Walpole of 
his time — of how Henri, determined to see Gabrielle, 
passed close by the garrisons of The League disguised 
as a reaper and with a bundle of straw on his bent back 
until he reached her, that it is impossible to doubt it. 

At any rate, his foolhardiness attained no great 
success. Henri was stUl in a very doubtful position as 
regarded his future and was possessed of very little 
money, which was the thing that concerned Gabrielle 
most, while, since de Bellegarde could give her every- 
thing she required, she saw no reason for removing her 
affections from him. 

It was, however, certain that Henri must triumph 

over his principal rival, but, in spite of the extravagance 

in which he continued to indulge on Gabrielle's account, 

he always found that de Bellegarde was lurking in the 

background. Meanwhile, it was necessary that Gabrielle 

should hold a more recognized position than that of 

an unmarried woman as the King was now resolved to 

116 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

make her his wife, so great was his infatuation ; and, 
consequently, a Monsieur de Liancourt was called upon 
to marry her and was rewarded with the title of Marquis 
de Monceaux for doing so, as well as with a fixed income 
for life. As had been arranged, the newly-wedded 
couple parted at the church door and never met again, 
and the divorce necessary to set Gabrielle free was soon 
pronounced. In this manner a custom was inaugurated 
in the House of Bourbon which continued until the end 
of the reign of Louis XV., nearly one hundred and eighty 
years afterwards, the last maUresse-en-titre to comply 
with it being Madame du Barry. 

Gabrielle was very soon, however, to cease to be the 
Marquise de Monceaux and become better known by 
the new title of Duchesse de Beaufort, which was con- 
ferred upon her by the King at the birth of the Due 
de Vendome. In this prominent position she considered 
it her duty to become a power in politics and, although 
aU her efforts had but one end, namely, her own 
aggrandisement, she did, in an indirect way, bring 
about peace between The League — as represented by 
the Duke de Mayenne — and Henri ; or, perhaps, it may 
be better said, to bring about the pardon of the Leaguers 
by the latter. 

Henri was, however, by no means free as yet of the 

troubles of war, and it was at this time that, hearing 

117 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

in the presence of Gabrielle of how the Spaniards had 
landed on the Norman coast and marched inland to 
attack Amiens, he uttered a remark which was, per- 
haps, the best and most self-respecting one he ever 
made in his life. " I have played the part of King 
of France long enough," he exclaimed ; "it is now time 
for me to play that of the King of Navarre " — the 
exclamation having probably been called forth by a 
sudden recollection of the valiant struggle he had main- 
tained as the latter, and the life of indulgence he had 
been leading of late as the former. 

Meanwhile, Gabrielle was becoming more and more 
haughty and presumptuous and had, at last, assumed 
all the airs and graces of a woman who was about to 
become Queen of France, she undoubtedly being led to 
do so by the fact that, although Marguerite de Valois had 
sworn she would never consent to a divorce from Henri 
with a view to putting cette creature in her place, it was 
well known that the Pope was almost certain to pro- 
nounce the divorce with or without the consent of 
Marguerite. A direct heir to the throne was absolutely 
needed, and as the legitimation of the Due de Vendome 
had already taken place — this being the custom of the 
period in similar cases — a form of marriage between his 
mother and father was all that was necessary to consti- 
tute him heir apparent. 

Ii8 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

Nevertheless^ there were doubts as to whether even 
the Pope with all his power — and he was undoubtedly 
the most important personage in Europe in a religious, 
legal and general sense — could grant a divorce without 
the consent of both the married parties which judges, 
jurisconsults, juries and the world in general would 
consent to regard as tenable. Moreover, the ancient 
nobility and grand seigneurs were up in arms, in a 
figurative sense, on the subject, and regarded the pro- 
posed marriage — even if Henri had been a single man — 
as an insult to their order. Consequently, they wrote 
as plainly as even the highest-born dared to write to 
the Pope to express their opinion on the matter, and 
His Holiness, while, as has been said, " almost certain 
to pronounce the divorce," still hesitated to do so. 

Henri was therefore between cross-fires. His pas- 
sion for Gabrielle knew no abatement but, at the 
same time, he had no desire to see the whole of his 
partly-gained country rise up against him. He had also 
to contend against the determination of Marguerite, 
should she continue to remain obdurate. There was, 
consequently, only one thing for him to do, namely, 
to endeavour in every way in his power to force the Pope, 
by attacks on those whom His Holiness particularly 
favoured, to decide in his favour and ignore the woman 

who was at present his wife. If that could be compassed 

119 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

he felt himself sufficiently strong to face the anger of 
the nobility, and, as he had conquered them before, 
and was universally popular with the people, while the 
former were exactly the reverse owing to their inso- 
lence and oppression, he did not doubt that he could 
overmaster them again. Meanwhile, things remained 
at the pass to which they had already arrived. 
Gabrielle not only assumed the airs and demeanour of 
a future queen, but was, to a great extent, treated as a 
lady occupying that position. By this time, however, 
an unexpected solution of the matter was at hand and, 
had it not arisen within the next fifteen days, the woman 
who had been sold by her mother as cattle in the market- 
place are sold, who had bestowed her favours on more 
than one member of the nobility, and had been for some 
time the maitresse-en-titre of the King, would have 
undoubtedly ascended the ancient throne of France as 
Queen. 

Her sumptuous garments for the first ceremony — 
that of her marriage — were prepared, as were also the 
crimson velvet robes which none but the Queens of France 
might wear. The ring with which the monarchs of 
France espoused the land over which they were called 
to rule had already been removed by Henri from his 
finger and placed on hers as a sign of engagement ; the 
deference with which a future consort of a monarch 

120 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

was always treated was shown to her by all the courtiers. 
The Pope's consent was not yet given, but Henri knew 
that it soon would be. 

Gabrielle was at this time, namely, little more than 
fifteen days before her marriage would take place, 
sta5dng at Fontainebleau with the object of being 
near her future husband. She was, however, anxious to 
return to Paris since Easter was at hand, and to attend 
there, publicly, the usual religious ceremonies, or, as 
the French describe it, to " faire ses Pdgues," as a 
good Catholic. The reason for this, in her case, some- 
what ostentatious ceremony, was that she was desirous 
of publicly proving herself to possess religious opinions, 
a matter upon which very considerable doubts had of 
late been freely expressed. Arrived in Paris, she supped 
with Zamet, the Italian financier previously mentioned, 
and then went to lodge at the Deanery of St. Germain 
I'Auxerrois, where her aunt, Madame de Sourdis, was 
also installed as a permanent guest of the Chancellor, 
an old man with whom the lady — who appears to have 
been of a type not very remote from that represented 
by Gabrielle's mother — was on extremely friendly terms. 
Madame de Sourdis was, however, absent in the country 
and, pending her return, which Gabrielle at once com- 
manded, the latter had for attendants and companions 
Madame and Mademoiselle de Guise — the latter of 

121 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

whom was the most aristocratic, as she was one of the 
most brilKant, authoresses of her day — and the Duchesse 
de Retz and her daughters. On the next morning the 
future Queen went to the Church of Le Petit Saint- 
Antoine there to hear Les Tenebres — one of the sacred 
offices of Holy Week — and entered a side-chapel with 
the above ladies. Gabrielle's religious professions do 
not, however, appear to have been of a particularly 
ardent nature since she spent the time in reading aloud 
to Mdlle. de Guise some letters she had received from 
Rome, in which she was informed that all she desired 
would shortly be granted by the Pope. She also read 
to her companion two letters full of love and passion 
which she had that day received from the King — so 
that, as an earlier writer has well remarked, " Voild le 
Saint Office Hen entendu ! " 

Following on these devout proceedings she entered 
the garden of Zaraet when she complained of feeling 
ill and, after sinking into a seat, requested that she 
might be taken back at once to the Deanery and put 
to bed, and that another courier should be immediately 
sent off for her aunt. 

From this time she gradually became worse and, 
although the doctors considered that she had un- 
doubtedly been poisoned, it was impossible for them, to 
administer any remedies or antidotes to her, since she 

122 



Sully and the Death of Gabrlelle d'Estrees 

was evidently about to become once more a mother. 
What the unfortunate creature experienced at this 
period from the practices of the day in surgery and 
medicine cannot be related ; it is sufficient to say that 
she was bled time after time until, at last, she must have 
died from exhaustion if she had not expired from other 
causes. Her death took place amidst frightful agonies 
and in efforts to breathe which were so violent that, 
when she was dead, her mouth was reported to be out 
of place and her whole face so hideous that it was im- 
possible to look upon her. To add additional horror 
to this death-bed on which she had suffered the most 
terrible convulsions followed by a total loss of the power 
to speak, hear, see or move, crowds were admitted to 
pass through her room and observe her, some being 
so terrified by her appearance that they hurried away 
faster than they had come, while others knelt and prayed 
God to have mercy on her for her life and her faults in 
consideration of the benefit which this sudden death 
would be to the future of France.* 

* Gabrielle was dressed by her aunt in royal robes — crimson 
velvet passemented with gold — after her death. The contrast of 
this magnificent attire with the distorted face of the dead woman 
caused a thrill to all who passed through the room where she lay — 
namely, more than twenty thousand people. Her relatives, including 
her four sisters, abstained from demanding an inquiry into the manner 
of her death, nor did Henri order one to be made. He wore mourning 
for her for three months, and it was observed that, in this case, it 
was black and not purple; 

123 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Whether this woman who had risen, as a subject, 
to the highest rank as a duchess, and would indubitably 
have sat by the side of Henri as queen had she lived, 
was poisoned or not, has remained a mystery until this 
day. An autopsy was made and her liver and one 
lung were discovered to be diseased, while a lemon 
which she had eaten at Zamet's was supposed to have 
done her much harm. There were also those who re- 
membered that fruit was often used as a channel by 
which poison might be conveyed, while the remark of 
her physician on quitting the death chamber, " Hie 
est manus Dei," was interpreted in different ways, 
some saying that it meant that her death was the act 
of God alone, and others that God had inspired some 
person, or persons, to remove her ere she should bring 
disgrace and shame on France. 

The connection of Sully with this matter, to speak of 
him by the title which he had not yet acquired but by 
which he is best known, has now to be considered. 

It has been stated that Gabrielle had deeply irritated 
his wife. La Baronne de Rosny, by her haughty and 
imperious airs, and by having informed that lady that she 
authorized her to attend her lever and coucher in future.* 

* The royal custom in France of permitting courtiers to attend 
the getting up and going to bed of the King, and, in the case of ladies, 
that of the Queen. Gabrielle would not be likely to omit the practice. 
From the former is derived what we term in English, " the levee." 

124 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

Furious with rage at this condescension, la Baronne 
flew to her husband and, losing all control over 
herself, gave full vent to her temper. Sully, whose 
frequent task it was to soothe the outbreaks of his 
wife, endeavoured to do so on this occasion and, in the 
attempt, uttered the words " that she would soon see 
something startling " (" heau jeu et hien joue ") " if 
the rope does not break." Three days later, receiving at 
dawn, at his seat at Rosny, the news that Gabrielle was 
dead, he rushed into his wife's room, embraced her and 
said, " My child, you will go to neither the lever nor the 
coucher, because the rope is broken. Since, however, 
she is really dead, may God give her a long, good life " 
(" in Paradise," being, of course, intended). 

It is the utterance of these few words composing 
Sully's first remark to Madame de Rosny (in connection 
with another matter to be dealt with presently) that 
has cast upon his memory a stain incapable of erasure, 
though not one in which is comprised the darkest hue, 
namely, that attached to the crime of murder. Yet 
how — considering that the words were uttered on the 
day Gabrielle arrived in Paris and when she was per- 
fectly well — is he to be acquitted of the knowledge 
that she would soon be removed from this earth : how 
is he to be set free from the suspicion of being an accom- 
plice before the event ? It seems that he must have 

125 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

known what was about to happen and, although he stood 
outside the actual commission of the crime, he, who 
was the most powerful subject in France, took no steps 
to prevent it. That he hated Gabrielle has always 
been well-known and was well-known at the time ; he 
doing so partly because her influence over Henri was 
greater than his own, partly because she treated him 
with contemptuous scorn, as when she spoke of him 
to Henri and before his own face as " un valet," and 
partly, also, because he was anxious to see his master 
married to a woman of royal birth who was able at the 
same time to bring a great dowry with her. On the 
other hand, he owed her family something, and, with 
his harsh, autocratic nature, it may have been the case 
that it was natural to him to loathe any person, except 
his master, from whom he had received benefits. The 
position of Surintendant des Finances, which he now 
held, had been conferred on Gabrielle's father, but he, 
probably for some very good reason connected with his 
daughter's future, had elected to transfer that high 
office to Sully himself. 

One pauses bafiled, however, in any attempt to 
unravel the skein when it is recalled — on endeavouring 
to understand Sully's undoubted knowledge of Ga- 
brielle's impending fate — that he himself has narrated the 
interviews with his wife, as well as the above-quoted 

126 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

words, in that most remarkable farrago of distorted 
facts and almost unintelligible verbiage which is known 
as his (Economies Roy ales* For, with this avowal 
staring us in the face, what construction are we to put 
on the man's action ? Under his own hand, or those 
of his secretaries, he shows us that he must have 
known of Gabrielle's nearness to death, yet he appears 
not to see that, in doing so, he proves that her death 
was decided on and that he was in the secret. Or is it 
bravado which induces him to reveal himself thus ? 
Or, again, was there no intention at the time of letting 
this diary, for such it is, see the light until he himself 
was dead ? Or did he think that all who afterwards 
read of the knowledge which he possessed, but did 
not use to save the doomed woman, would consider 
his conduct worthy of approval, and be also willing to 
regard him in the light of one who had preserved Henri 
from an irreparable error and France from a great 
disaster ? 

One portion of this mystery, however, still remains 
unexplained and, unless the antique jargon in which 
Sully and his secretaries indulged — it being more the 

* The title given by Sully to his work. It appeared, however, as 
M^moires des Sages et Royale (Economies, etc. It has been conjectured 
that the secretaries were supposititious, and only introduced by Sully to 
prevent him from appearing to be too self-laudatory. This may be so, 
but Sully did not suffer from overweening modesty, .... 

127 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

French of Brantome and his predecessors than that of 
a Court surrounded by many cultivated scholars and 
well-educated men and women — was at the root of the 
mystery, it can never be explained. He himself states 
that his expression to his wife, when endeavouring to 
calm her, was that she would see " un beau jeu et bien 
joue si la corde ne rompait." "Si la corde ne rompait ! " 
What does this mean ? To what cord is he referring 
which would bring ease to his wife, "if it did not 
break," while, on the contrary, it should, judging by 
results, have caused her much satisfaction if it did ? To 
attempt to find an answer to this question a further 
one must be put. Was the " cord " Gabrielle's exist- 
ence ? But, if so, and it did not break, where and when 
was the beau jeu bien joue to take place, and how ? 
Granting that the cord was this existence and that 
it did not break, she was in a fortnight's time to have 
attained to so high a position that the future Duchesse 
de Sully would have sunk to vast insignificance in com- 
parison with her, while Gabrielle, gentle as she ordi- 
narily was, would never have forgotten the opposition 
of Sully to her marriage with the King, nor his wife's 
frequent attempts — in her position, as well as in the 
character of an irreproachable matron — to put the mis- 
tress in her proper place. 

Now, in contradistinction to this is the statement 

128 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

that when Gabrielle was dead and Sully burst into his 
wife's bedroom to inform her of the fact, the words 
he used were " la corde est rompue." Therefore, it 
seems that what was hoped for and expected, in his 
house at least, was that the rope would break, and 
not that the beau jeu which was desired would be well 
played if it did not break. Consequently, posterity is 
still in the dark as to what Sully knew, or did not 
know, of the tragedy that was about to occur, and 
as to whether, as has been suggested, he uttered the 
first expression only with a view to consoling his irri- 
tated spouse and phrased it wrongly, or whether — 
which is the poorest, though probably the most accurate 
surmise — the extraordinary phraseology of himself and 
his assistants led to the remark being written wrongly 
and never set right when it was printed. This idea is 
the more likely to be an accurate one since the 
sentence itself is not properly completed, but should 
have been written si la corde ne rompait pas, or, ne 
fompe pas, and not ne rompait. 

Nevertheless, it appears impossible that any one of 
these surmises can be right. Sully had at his command 
all the resources of the power possessed by the great 
feudal noblesse; he towered above all the heads of the 
representatives of the leading houses in France ; he 
was the first subject in the kingdom, yet Henri, who 

129 9 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

behaved to him more as if he were his brother than a 
subject, would not, with all his regard for him, have 
tolerated his farther existence for a single hour after 
he had discovered — if he ever should discover — that 
Sully had been cognisant of the impending murder of 
the fondly-loved woman who was to have been his 
queen. The risk of merely knowing that such a plot 
was in the wind was, therefore, terrible, and even 
though Sully did know of such a plot and escaped 
detection, is it possible that years afterwards, when 
both Henri and Gabrielle had long been in their graves, 
he would deliberately have sat down to dictate to his 
scribes a circumstance the knowledge of which should 
for ever tarnish him in the eyes of all posterity ? 

What, therefore, remains for that posterity to imagine 
after rising from a perusal of the incident, but one 
thing, namely, that Sully used the expression, " si la 
corde nerompaif " only with a view to calming the trans- 
ports of rage into which his wife had lashed herself over 
Gabrielle's offensive patronage, and that, by one of 
those extraordinary chances, one of those strange 
successes which occasionally take place when it is long 
odds against their being achieved, the sinister sug- 
gestion had been verified, the guess at hazard had 
become true? In this case, a vain-glorious person, 
wishing to stand well in the eyes of futurity, might 

130 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

be suddenly incited to write down that which, while 
doing credit either to his perspicacity or his clear know- 
ledge of all that was passing around and beneath him, 
was capable of bearing — that must bear — an interpre- 
tation which would leave a blot on his memory for 
ever. 

In any circumstance, the statement was an extremely 
hazardous one, since, after all that ever came to light 
on the subject of Gabrielle's death, there remained, 
and still remains, the doubt whether she was actually 
poisoned. Two important portions, at least, of her 
body were diseased ; there was also a suspicion that 
she was suffering from stone ; the pangs of maternity 
were upon her and, consequently, it scarcely required 
the aid of poison to put an end to her life. Henri him- 
self could hardly have believed that its aid had been 
called in since, if it was administered at all, it must 
have been given on the night she supped with Zamet, 
yet shortly after Gabrielle's death the Italian was 
given a high post, namely, the Governorship of Fon- 
tainebleau — the country residence par excellence of 
Royalty at this period. The King also expressed him- 
self satisfied with the truth of the reports made to him 
on the subject, and from that time forth the matter 
became of little importance to any but historians. 

We now come, however, to a circumstance in Sully's 

131 9* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

own narrative, the (Economies Royales, in which, for 
some reason connected with the above affair, he has 
chosen to give a copy of a letter which was fabricated, 
and, undoubtedly, fabricated by him alone. 

For some purpose almost, if not entirely, inexplicable 
— since every one of the persons with whom it deals 
had been dead for years — it suited him to throw a false 
light on all the circumstances connected with the last 
moments of Gabrielle. But if he had any purpose at all, 
it v/as to throw suspicion on the memory of Zamet 
(who died nineteen years after her and twenty before 
the Memoirs were published) ; the man who had 
been much liked by Henri and was, consequently, as 
much an object of hatred to Sully as was the chief of 
all favourites — the mistress and prospective future 
Queen. But Sully never brooked or spared a rival in 
the good graces of his master, and the thirty-nine years 
which had elapsed since the woman went to her grave 
and the twenty which had passed since the man had 
gone to his were powerless to heal his rancour. 

The letter is to be read by all who care to peruse 
the (Economies Royales, and it is, therefore, unneces- 
sary to do more than give a brief synopsis of it. It 
purports to be written by one La Varenne, who was a 
State official (not to be confused with Isaac de Varennes, 

a spy, who will be mentioned later), and was also a 

132 




Gabrielle d'Estrees (Duchesse de Beaufort). 



IFacing p. i33 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

confidential courier of Henri. It commences by nar- 
rating how he accompanied Gabrielle from Fontaine- 
bleau to Zamet's house, where she was lodged. It next 
adds that she was treated by the wealthy financier to 
a meal consisting of viands of the most recherche and 
delicate nature, which he knew to be particularly to her 
taste. Here begins the attack on the memory of the 
Italian which refutes itself. In the first place, Gabrielle 
was not lodged at Zamet's house, but in the Deanery of 
St. Germain-l'Auxerrois, and, in the second, as she 
had come to Paris ostensibly pour faire ses Pdques it 
is most unlikely that, in the presence of her own 
attendants — officers of the garde de corps, and others 
whom Henri had sent in her train — to say nothing of 
Zamet's household, she would have partaken of any 
viande at all. Moreover, indulgence at the table was 
never one of the failings attributed to Gabrielle. And, 
again, considering the delicate condition in which she 
was, it is absolutely improbable that she would, in any 
circumstance, have been willing to indulge her tastes, 
even supposing that she possessed them. 

There is a good deal more of the same kind of inven- 
tion introduced into this supposed letter which never 
saw the light until La Varenne had been dead two 
years less than Zamet, namely, twenty-one years after 
Gabrielle ; and the most remarkable thing about all 

133 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

the statements is that, where there is not absolute and 
trustworthy refutation of them, they refute themselves. 
For instance. La Varenne is made to say that he is 
sending off this letter hurriedly after writing it at 
Gabrielle's bedside, yet he is also made to state that he 
is " holding this unfortunate woman in my arms with 
a view to stilling her agony," and that he doubts if 
she will be alive in another hour, so great are her suffer- 
ings. Verily, he must have been a man of iron resolu- 
tion if he could write at all in such circumstances, as 
well as one gifted with extraordinary facility in the 
use of his arms and hands. Messages sent off from the 
bedsides of dying persons are generally of a more hurried 
nature than this ! 

We may now leave this remarkable letter, the expla- 
nation of which apparently lies in the suggestion already 
made, and turn for a moment to the (Economies 
Royales, since they form one of the most extraordinary 
productions in the way of memoir-writing ever given 
to an astonished world. 

Sully had retired to his estate of Rosny, in the 
Province of Artois, shortly after the assassination of 
Henri, and it would appear that, in this somewhat 
gloomy solitude, he soon afterwards devoted himself 
to the preparation of these memoirs, which he dictated 
to the four secretaries who accompanied him. He also 

134 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

ordered a printer of Angers to bring his presses to the 
Chateau de Rosny (printing-presses were small, insig- 
nificant things in those days), and to be prepared to 
produce impressions of the manuscript as soon as the 
sheets were completed. Sully had, however, as adjuncts 
to his literary labours, four other individuals of far 
greater use to him than any of his secretaries or the 
printer and his man. These were no less personages 
than four of the most important writers of memoirs of 
the time who happened to have published or passed away 
before Sully also began to publish, and who could, there- 
fore, provide him with " copy " which, witli all his 
knowledge — and it was enormous — of les a-ffaires, he 
might not have been able to otherwise produce. One, 
the most important of all, was none other than Pierre 
L'Estoile, whose journal had appeared in 1621 ; another 
was d'Aubign6, who wielded a good pen with as much 
facility as he had earlier wielded a good sword in the 
cause of the Huguenots.* His Histoire Universelle 
had appeared in the years 1616-18-20. A third was 
Palma Cayet, who had published, in 1605, his book, 
entitled Chronologic Septenaire, in which he made the 
mistake of saying that Gabrielle was lodged with Zaniet ; 
and a fourth was Legrain who, in his Decade, followed 

* Madame de Maintenon was, in after days, proud of her grand- 
father's literary gifts. She, however, preserved strict silence on his 
religious faith when she had become a Roman Catholic. , 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

him ; while, as a matter of fact, d'Aubigne and L'Estoile 
had hinted at the same thing. Here, therefore, is to 
be perceived the manner in which Sully made one out 
of many of his principal errors in the fabricated letter 
of La Varenne. In his inexplicable desire to deceive 
others he had copied authors who had themselves been 
deceived or were mistaken. 

The description of the (Economies Royales given 
earlier is not an unjust one. The language is archaic 
to a degree, as may be witnessed by any person possess- 
ing little more than an elementary knowledge of seven- 
teenth century French, or by anyone who will take the 
trouble to compare a volume of Mdlle. de Guise, or of 
d'Aubigne, or of L'Estoile, with the great Minister's own 
production. It may be urged, it is true, that Sully was 
more a man of business, or a rude soldier, than aught 
else, while Mdlle. de Guise was a princess of the illustrious 
house of that name, and had undoubtedly received all 
the advantages of an education which her family would 
take care to provide ; * that d'Aubigne was the son of 
a Huguenot gentleman of good estate, and a man who 
loved literature ; that L'Estoile was a member of one 

* In recent years the novels of Mdlle. de Guise have been attributed 
to other persons, notably, to the Due de Bellegarde. Nothing, how- 
ever, exists that tends to prove that the attribution is a just one. 
Mdlle. de Guise, who married first the Prince de Conti and afterwards, 
secretly, Bassompierre, was more likely to be able to write such novels 
than was the good-looking and dissolute duke. 

136 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

of the best families of the Law and a cultivated man 
of easy means ; and that he, himself, had been premier 
audiencier of Chancery and was an omnivorous reader 
and a copious writer. But the family of Sully was, as 
has been shown, superior to any of the families of the 
others, if not so powerful as that of the de Guises ; 
we know that he had been sent to a good school in 
Paris ; he had filled the office of ambassador to the 
most renowned Court in Europe, that of England, and 
had held the highest positions in his own country. 

Yet he adopted, among other forms of writing, one 
which can only be called puerile, namely, that of causing 
his secretaries to address his own remarks to himself. 
Thus he commences every chapter with " You received," 
" You set out for," etc., etc., while the laboured style, 
the, even for that period, antique expressions, the 
sentences tangled one in another and placed in paren- 
theses one after the other, are little short of maddening. 
To all of which has to be added the fact that one learns 
to regard a very considerable portion of the book as 
anything but trustworthy, and as being written only to 
gratify the author's desire of justifying himself, or of 
withholding praise from others, while, after the perusal 
of the supposed letter of La Varenne, who, if he wrote 
any of it, probably only scratched off a few hasty lines 
as he sat by the side of Gabrielle's death-bed, we lose 

137 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

all confidence in any portion of the book not confirmed 
from other sources. Fortunately, however, such con- 
firmation is frequently found to be the case. 

On the appearance of two volumes of the memoirs 
about seven years before the author's death, they 
were received with an amount of adverse criticism such 
as, probably, has never been accorded to any other 
work of the same nature, and has certainly never been 
accorded to the book of a man whose position had once 
been that of the first subject in Europe. The attack 
was led off by the secretary of Du Plessis-Mornay 
(a Huguenot nobleman of high rank and himself a most 
copious writer*), a man named Marbault, who, like 
his employer, was also bitterly hostile to Sully. But 
Marbault's attacks, and they are mostly justified, are 
now usually printed as an appendix to the memoirs 
themselves, and it is, therefore, unnecessary to quote 
much from them. An exception may, however, be 
made and attention drawn to the fact that the writer 
put his finger at once on a proof that La Varenne could 
never have written the letter attributed to him. La 
Varenne was a gentleman and a courtier, and well 
acquainted with all forms and ceremonies, as well as 

* He was closely attached to Henri for over twenty-five years 
and rendered him faithful service. His master said jokingly of him : 
" I can at any moment make a good captain out of that old writing- 
desk." Naturally Sully did not like this nobleman. 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

ceremonial addresses usual and proper in Court circles, 
and also with all matters of etiquette.* Yet he is 
made to address Sully in the supposed letter as Mon- 
seigneur, a title only due to the highest ecclesiastics 
and to some dukes who were also peers [Dues et Pairs de 
France). Dukes who had not this right were addressed as 
" Monsieur le Due," while those who did possess it were 
addressed, though sometimes wrongly, as " Monseigneur 
le Due " ; those who were of the royal blood, legitimate 
or legitimatized, were addressed as " Votre altesse, 
Monseigneur le Due," or as " Monseigneur." 

Now Sully was not a duke at the time of the death of 
Gabrielle, nor was he to become one until seven years 
after that death, namely, in 1606, when he was created 
" Due de Sully, Pair de France, and Captain General 
of the Gendarmes of the Queen." 

It stands to reason, therefore, that a skilled courtier 
would not have made such a mistake, but would also 
have been scrupulous not to apply a title to a man 
who would doubtlessly resent any attempt to describe 
him as what he did not happen to be. 

Marbault found, however, many other " wilful " 
errors of the same kind and pointed them out. One 
was a letter attributed to Marguerite de Valois on the 

* By many writers La Varenne was said to have been a scullion, 
which was false. He was descended from an ancient family in 
Navarre. He eventually attained high rank and died a marquis. 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

subject of the then impending marriage of Gabrielle, 
in which she is represented as using language about 
the favourite which would have disgraced the women 
of Les Halles, while the worst expression she ever 
did use was when she called Gabrielle " sale et vilaine." 
This alone refutes the possibility of the letter having 
been written by the last surviving Valois. What- 
ever the faults and failings of Marguerite may have 
been in her earlier days coarseness was not one 
of them, and she would not have debased herself 
by the use of such words as Sully attributes to her 
pen. 

Marbault had a sufficiency of companions in his attack 
on the (Economies Royales. Indeed, there was no 
writer of the period who did not contribute his aid 
to expose the inaccuracies of the book and the vain 
self-glorification which was apparent in even the 
enormously lengthy and cumbersome title in which he 
speaks of himself as contributing, " Useful services, 
suitable obedience and loyal administration," and 
as " being one of the trustworthy and useful soldiers 
and servitors of the great French Mars." 

The manner in which criticism was forthcoming on 
any important book, or rather on a book by any person 
who was, or had once been, of importance, forms an 
interesting subject for consideration, especially as it 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

applies not only to the method by which books were 
produced, but also to the manner in which criticisms, 
generally in the form of special leaflets or pamphlets, 
also met the eye of the public. There was still no news- 
paper published in France in the early days of Louis 
XIII.— outside the production called the Mercure 
Frangois* on which Richelieu poured his contempt 
later, though three years before the first two volumes of 
the (Economies Royales were published the Gazette de 
France had sprung into a feeble existence and commenced 
its long career. The latter was then, however, a puny 
thing, and although under royal patronage (Louis 
occasionally favoured it with a few paragraphs on 
matters which he considered would be interesting to his 
subjects, and often left them at the printer's himself) 
gave none too favourable signs that it had a future 

before it. 

Consequently, there were no "professional" critics. 
But there were many persons who were, nevertheless, 
always anxious to perform that office in particular 
cases— in the case, say, of an enemy's, and, sometimes, 
of a friend's book— as there were also others who re- 
quired the services of a clever writer to review a rival's 
book. The method of procedure was, therefore, to 

* More a book of dates than a journal, and a continuation of 
SepUnaire. It existed from 1605 to 1644.- 

141 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

purchase the work, or if, as in the case of Sully's mag- 
nificently produced volumes, that was too expensive 
an affair, to obtain a sight of it. Then, when the criti- 
cism was finished, a mode of publication had to be 
brought into play. This was, however, easy enough, 
provided that either the writer, or the man whose 
employe he happened to be, was able to pay for the cost 
of production. 

If there were no newspapers neither were there any 
publishers. Indeed, publishers as they are now under- 
stood had no existence, and did not begin to have any 
in France for more than a century ; and the case was 
not very dissimilar in most of the other countries of 
Europe. But printers there had been ever since Koster, 
Fust, Gutenberg, or Caxton first undertook the trade, and, 
though they embarked no money in the productions 
which issued from their presses, their business was to 
work for those who would do so. And, if those in Paris 
were not publishers, the signs of their houses, their 
names, and the numbers of the streets in which they 
lived, played the part that the name of a pubhsher of 
to-day plays, and the author, or the author's employer, 
paid all expenses and afterwards found the means of 
distribution. The book had, however, to pass the 
Censor, who was generally a Chancellor of the High 

Court, ere it could announce that it had received the 

142 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

Approbation et Privilege du Roi and before the printer 
could put his name and address to it, while, if it did 
not pass the Censor and receive that approbation, there 
remained still another system. Books, in increasing 
numbers as time went on, were published in Holland 
and, not having, therefore, obtained approbation and 
privilege, were smuggled into France and distributed 
more or less surreptitiously in large quantities. These 
were mostly works that dealt in libel or scandal, or too 
much unpalatable truth ; books that told of the 
peccadilloes of women of high rank, of the indiscretions 
of maids of honour, of the frauds of highly-placed 
officials and the brutal behaviour of members of the 
aristocracy, and also of the lives of courtesans, poisoners 
and, as often as not, of priests. At the same time, there 
remained a third method of evading the Censor which 
had the advantage of rendering unnecessary the im- 
portation of books from abroad. This was the simple 
one of printing them in France, but of placing on the 
title-page the supposititious name of some printer, in 
company with the borrowed name of Amsterdam or 
the Hague, or elsewhere. In this manner criticisms 
and other brochures, as well as books, were distributed 
in pamphlet form and either sold in secret places well- 
known to buyers of such literature, or, in many cases, 
openly in the streets, on the bridges; — "^^/^hich were much 

143 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

frequented for meeting and assembly — and sometimes 
outside the churches.* 

Since Sully may, perhaps, have imagined that he had 
survived most of his jealous enemies and envious friends 
by the time he published his first two volumes of the 
(Economies Royales, it is extraordinary that they should 
themselves have borne the name of Amsterdamf as 
the place of publication on their first page, and 
especially so as he made no secret that he was writing 
them. His name, with the boastful address to readers, 
was also there — but the printer he employed lived at 
Angers ! Such, however, was the case, and since it is 
impossible to suppose that the work was bound and 
arranged for publication anywhere else than in France, 
it must be presumed that this was one more weakness 
in a really great mind which could, nevertheless, stoop 
to the self-glorification that Sully frequently indulged 
in. Yet considerable reflection is needed on the matter 
before we can bring ourselves to suppose, or imagine, 
how Sully's vanity could be ministered to by such an 
action. When, however, it is recalled that all books 
surreptitiously published, or supposed to be published, 

* L'Estoile, a great buyer of books and pamphlets of this nature, 
is very full of information on the subject. 

j The indication on the title-page is " Amstelerdam chez ' Aleithinos- 
graphe.' " If any doubt could exist as to whether the indication is 
true or false this folly should decide it. 

144 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

abroad, were books of which prominent people were 
often afraid, the reason may be divined at last with- 
out much difficulty. 

The third and fourth volumes of the (Economies 
Roy ales were published years after the writer's death 
at Sully — a large estate which the Duke bought and 
from which he took his title — namely, in 1662. These 
received but little more notice than is usually accorded 
to continuations of memoirs or recollections which, 
exciting as their first part may have been, have come 
too late to appeal to the public that is at last to read 
them. Moreover, a greater even than he — Richelieu — 
had held the reins — and the King (Louis XIII.) — in his 
hands ; and both Henri and Sully were long since gone. 
Sully's work of forty years before, if not his reputation, 
had therefore become obsolete and the books fell flat. 
Eighty-three years later, in 1745, the Abb6 de L'ficluse 
produced an edition of this extraordinary achievement, 
his object being to put it into proper and readable 
French. In this he succeeded, but in some way he 
failed to convey to the public to which it appealed all 
the interest, as well as useful political history, that — 
excluding the above-mentioned " mis-statements," and 
some others — it undoubtedly contained. 

Sully's literary efforts were not, however, confined 

solely to this stupendous undertaking. He produced 

145 10 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

some treatises on the art of war, and a book of in- 
structions to police and militia ; he perpetrated some 
poetry and — marvel of marvels ! — he wrote a novel 
entitled Gelastide. This work never got beyond 
manuscript form, but it was long cherished by his 
descendants and exhibited to those eager to see it. 
It must, indeed, have been interesting to regard as a 
curiosity, even though the perusal of it might not have 
furnished much entertainment. He never attempted 
another form of literature, namely, that of dramatic 
composition, but he was at one time frequently made 
the hero of dramas written round his career. Not 
one of them, however, found favour with the public 
at any time, or held the boards for more than a night 
or so. 

Faulty as was Sully in many ways — in his detestation 
of all other favourites, male and female, of the King — 
and sour, morose, bad-mannered and often brutal, he 
possessed several excellent qualities which counted for 
much in making him the principal Minister and subject 
of his master. His best characteristics were rugged 
fidelity and personal courage equal to that of Henri 
himself. He was, indeed, like some savage mastiff 
who will never quit his owner yet will rend to pieces 

any other person who draws near. This may have 

146 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

been the reason for his antagonism to Gabrielle and 
afterwards to Henriette d'Entragues, though that 
antagonism was more owing to the injury which he 
recognized that a marriage with either would entail 
on Henri and on France — which latter stood second in 
his heart ! — than absolute hatred of the ladies them- 
selves, in spite of their scorn of him. Purity could 
scarcely have been the motive for this feeling, since, 
when Conde was known to be about to flee with his 
wife to Brussels, there to escape from Henri's attention 
to the latter, Sully said roughly that Henri had better 
shut Conde up in the Bastille and leave the princess 
to her fate than let the former throw himself into the 
arms of the Spaniards. His roughness had, indeed, 
become almost a proverb, and he probably never met his 
match except in the Due d'Epernon — that meretricious 
example of the medieval type of swashbuckler — who 
addressed him with such intemperance of language, and 
threatened him with such personal violence, that Sully 
drew his sword in self-defence. 

In the reign of James I. he was sent as a special 
ambassador to England for a short time, but his first 
visit had been to Dover, in 1601, at a moment when 
Elizabeth happened to be there in one of her various 
journeyings and progresses about her kingdom, and 

when Henri chanced to be at Calais. The Queen of 

147 10* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

England, hearing of this latter fact, wrote a cordial 
letter to Henri, in which she addressed him as her " dear 
and well-beloved brother," and described herself as 
" his very loyal sister and faithful ally." She also 
expressed her regret that they were both forbidden by 
certain customs from meeting, although so near, 
especially as she had at one time promised herself the 
happiness of " kissing him and embracing him with 
both arms." She had, she also wrote, something to 
tell him which she did not feel disposed to write, or 
confide, to either his representatives or her own. 

Upon this, Henri, who was extremely pleased with 
the cordiality of his great neighbour, sent for Sully 
and bade him set out for Dover at once, which he did. 
He had, however, resolved to be extremely discreet in 
his method of approaching the Queen, and, consequently, 
when the Earl of Pembroke and Lord Cavendish en- 
countered him he said that he had simply come over 
to Dover for a change of air and to walk about the town, 
and that neither had he a letter for the Queen nor 
desired her to know that he was in her neighbourhood 
as, otherwise, she might be offended at his not paying 
his respects to her. The two noblemen, however, burst 
out laughing at this and, a few moments later, an 
officer of the Queen's guards accosted him, told him 

jokingly that he was a prisoner, and took him before 

148 




Queen Elizabeth. 
(Artist unknown. Engraved by Vertue.) 



\_Faciiuj p. 148 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

Elizabeth. She, being also in a merry mood, asked him 
what he meant by coming into her country without 
pa3nng her a visit, and said that, since he had nothing 
to say to her she had something to say to him, and 
bade him follow her. When alone, she informed him 
that what she desired was to form an alliance with the 
King of France against Spain and Austria, and they 
then and there drew out the basis of the alliance which, 
however, was never ratified owing to the death of 
Elizabeth not long afterwards. 

Sully's hatred of Concini — the most pardonable one 
in which he ever indulged — was such that he would 
never speak to him if he could possibly avoid doing so, 
and he generally favoured the Italian upstart with 
nothing more than a full view of his back. It is stated 
that his reason for quitting the Court after the assassina- 
tion of Henri was that he could not tolerate being forced 
to come into contact with the man. Nevertheless the 
adventurer had his revenge on the day after the King's 
murder, when he caused to be painted upon the gates 
of Sully's courtyard the words, " Un valet a louer ici." 
This unfortunate word " valet " does indeed seem to 
have attached itself considerably to Sully, remembering 
Gabrielle and her successor, Henriette d'Entragues. 

As a worker he was indefatigable. He rose at four 
o'clock in winter and summer ; at six he dressed for 

149 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

the day ; at seven he entered the Council Chamber ; 
at mid-day he dined alone with his wife and children, 
after which he gave audience until seven, when he had 
supper and then went to bed. His manner of giving 
audience was on a par with his usual rudeness and 
brusque behaviour. He rarely rose from his seat to 
greet any who presented themselves, and, if he hap- 
pened to be writing when a visitor was ushered in, he 
did not take the trouble to raise his eyes in acknowledg- 
ment of the other's presence. There is a story told 
(though on no very good authority, since it appears in 
an anonymous collection of anecdotes of La vie et les 
habitudes de Monsigneur le feu Due de Sully) of how 
this once happened when the English ambassador was 
conducted to his audience-room. The ambassador stood 
silent for a moment regarding Sully, after which he 
said, "It is possible that Monseigneur is not aware 
that Queen Elizabeth of England is present in the person 
of her representative in France." 

As Sully had before this made acquaintance with 
Elizabeth during his own mission to her, and as he was 
thoroughly cognisant of what power she could exert 
in helping the Protestants, his apologies — which were 
not often forthcoming — were profuse. 

His brutality was, in some cases, savagery of the 
worst form. When he was sent to London, one of his 

150 



Sully and the Death of Gabrieile d'Estiees 

suite, a young gentleman of good family, was so irritated 
at the jeers of the crowd at the Frenchmen that he 
became involved in an argument with some of the mob 
who were looking on, and, in a moment of heat, struck 
one of them. On this coming to Sully's ears he instantly 
ordered that his follower should be put to death — 
where and how the execution could have taken place 
one does not know ! — and he was so determined that 
this should be done that it required all the persuasions 
of the English Court to make him understand that the 
contretemps was of no particular importance. His tongue 
was also a very unruly member, though he could scarcely 
be blamed for a remark he made to Louis XIII. when 
that monarch summoned him from his retreat to give 
some advice on a subject which he was weU qualified 
to elucidate. 

Sully appeared, as was his invariable habit, dressed 
in the style of forty years before, and the courtiers, 
who were not accustomed to witness such a specimen 
of the past as he presented, indulged in a good many 
sneers and jeers at his antiquated appearance. Upon 
which the old man said in a loud tone to the King, 
" Sire, when your father did me the honour to consult 
me, he first of all turned all the fools and buffoons out 
of the room." Louis XIII. had the good grace to 
follow his father's custom. 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

At his three seats, Sully, Rosny and Villebon,* he 
lived in great state and circumstance surrounded by his 
squires, pages, guards and gentlemen-in-waiting, and, 
though all were well-paid, lodged and fed, strict economy 
was practised and waste severely blamed, if not 
punished. This carefulness, combined with free 
handedness, is far more entitled to admiration than 
contempt, though, as a matter of fact, had Sully been 
twice as lavish, and had he exercised little or no care 
in his household expenses, his fortune would not have 
permitted him to be affected by any careless profusion. 

He had, in his long service to his master, grown 
enormously rich ; indeed, he had begun to accumulate 
wealth from the outset. He had bought many pro- 
perties as speculations, all of which he generally managed 
to part with at a considerable profit, but Sully and 
Villebon were early added to his patrimonial estate of 
Rosny. As, gradually, he retired from his various 
employments under the State, he disposed of them to 
his successors (all public employments being sold in 
France at this period, as well as long before and long 
after Sully's time, in much the same way as military 



* The terminal adjective of " bon " for " bonne " is somewhat 
strange. It is not, however, exceptional, as such errors in the adjective 
exist even to these days. There is now a small paper published in 
Paris called " La monde " ; and the frontier station, where the train 
enters Alsace-Lorraine on the road to Basle, is named Petit Croix. 



Sully and the Death of Gahrklle d'Estrees 

commissions of all grades were sold in England within 
most persons' recollections) for 760,000 livres, while 
three abbeys and many benefices which had been pre- 
sented to him by Henri were sold for 240,000 livres. 
He also received from Marie de Medici, until she was 
exiled, a yearly pension of 48,000 livres. 

In accordance with the habits of the time, he like- 
wise made large sums out of his military services, and 
he acknowledged that, in one of the many expeditions 
against the Duke of Savoy which he directed, he gained 
200,000 livres. 

That all this accumulated wealth should give rise to 
much comment is not surprising, especially as Sully 
possessed more enemies than friends, while there were 
more persons envious of his career than even his enemies 
numbered, so that, like those of whom Dean Swift spoke, 
he was forced to take his distinction as he took his land, 
cum onere. Richelieu states that Henri was at one 
time about to remove Sully from the direction of the 
finances, since he had doubts as to the " cleanness of 
his hands." It has to be remembered, however, that 
Richelieu was not above a different form of that jealousy 
to which SuUy was a victim. If the latter hated those 
contemporaries who rivalled him in the good graces of 
his master, the former was not able to withstand the 
chance of depreciating the high position of one who had 

153 



The Fate of Heory of Navarre 

so closely preceded him and to whom he had been 
subordinate, and one who probably recognized also 
that, in the Bishop of Lugon, he was face to face with a 
genius which, in the days to come, would, with oppor- 
tunity, far outshine his own. 

The opportunity came and the star of Sully was 
eclipsed by that of Richelieu, but Richelieu could never 
forget that it had once blazed the most conspicuous 
of all surrounding it. 

The old man died in 1641 when he was nearly eighty- 
two (his wife lived to the age of ninety-seven), while, with 
what seems to have been almost an irony of Fate, Henri 
endeavoured to persuade Sully's son and heir to marry 
Henriette de Vendome, aged fourteen, daughter of 
Gabrielle d'Estrees— to still call her by her original 
name— whom Sully had so much hated and opposed. 
At his death the old order had indeed given place to 
the new ; a change had occurred in France that, if 
Sully had observed it carefully, must have caused him 
many conflicting emotions. The boy who was to become 
Louis XIV. was born ; Richelieu was dying of a cruel 
disease and Louis XIIL's own death was known to 
be close at hand. The system of feudalism and villenage 
was passing away : territorial regiments, to take the 
place of vast bodies of men serving under their respective 
lords, were in conception and were soon to become an 

154 




Charles I. (by Vandyke). 



[Facing p. i55 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielie d'Estrees 

established fact. The French Navy, as a consolidated 
body, was the finest in the world and was to remain so 
until its defeat at La Hogue, by Russell, shattered for 
ever its pretensions to that position. Portugal had just 
broken away from her annexation by Spain in 1580, and 
was a restored kingdom ; Cromwell had made his first 
speeches in Parliament and was soon to suggest that 
forces should be levied to oppose Charles I., and the Star 
Chamber was abolished ; Concini* had been murdered 

* The terrible deaths of Concini and his wife, and especially that 
of the former, may cause students of French history to remark a 
strange similarity between it and the death of the_ Princesse de 
Lamballe during the French Revolution. 

Concini — the order for whose arrest had been issued by Louis XIII. 
— was about to enter the Louvre when Vitry, the Captain of the 
Guard, demanded his sword. Concini made a movement, either to 
defend himself or to obey the order, when he was shot three times 
by Vitry's men and fell dead. Louis, it has often been stated, was 
looking out from a window that gave upon the spot where Vitry was 
stationed. The Queen, hearing the reports of the pistols, sent one 
of her female attendants to discover what was the meaning of them, 
and the woman, seeing the Captain of the Guard calmly standing in 
the courtyard, asked him what had occurred. " The Marshal is 
killed," Vitry repHed indifferently. " By whom ? " " By me, 
by order of the King." This incident has always been selected by 
historians as the most certain proof that Louis was privy to the 
murder, especially as he witnessed it from the window and said 
nothing. The body of the Italian was at once pillaged by some of 
Vitry's men. One took his great diamond, another Ms jewel-hilted 
sword, a third his cloak, and a fourth his scarf. He was buried that 
night in the vaults of St. Germain-l'Auxerrois and disinterred the next 
day by the populace, who hated him. The body was then exposed 
outside the house of his friend, Barbin, and was subjected to the 
most horrible desecration. His features were destroyed, his limbs 
were mutilated, his heart was torn out and grilled and a portion 
of it eaten by the mob. One part of his remains was then burnt on 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

and his wife executed, while de Luynes had been dead 
twenty years. Corneille was a man of thirty-five and 
had produced The Cid (as well as some comedies), 
which revolutionized the theatrical world, and Racine 
was two years old. Sully had also lived to see a King 
upon the throne whose life had been immaculate in its 
purity — whatever other defects it possessed — and a 
Court in which the existence of MaUresses-en-titre seemed 
to be things that belonged to the manners and morals 
of the dark ages. Unfortunately, those who lived a few 

the Greve and another on the Pont Neuf, and the ashes were sold at 
so much an ounce. 

The body of the Princesse de Lamballe was, one hundred and 
seventy-five years later, treated in an almost identical manner by the 
Revolutionists, even to the grossest outrages, and as a book {La 
Galerie de I'ancienne Cour] in which the murder and the mutilation 
of Concini is fully described was at this time republished, one is 
tempted to speculate as to whether that which happened to him was 
taken as a model for that which happened to her. 

The defenders of the Revolution have often asked if the crimes 
and excesses of that terrible period in any way exceeded those of 
the massacre of St. Bartholomew's Eve, perpetrated by Charles IX. ; 
or whether the murder of a Princess by the lower orders was any 
worse crime than the murder of Concini by an ancestor of that 
Princess ? Except that Concini himself was an unscrupulous and 
overbearing adventurer, while the Princesse de Lamballe was a harm- 
less and inoffensive woman who had never injured anyone, it must be 
admitted that the answer is difficult to find. 

Concini's wife, La Galigai, Marechale d'Ancre, was herself executed 
on the Greve, her body burnt and the ashes flung to the winds. 

De Luynes died of a fever five years later than the man whom he 
had supplanted, and, when he did so, Louis XIII. was no more affected 
by his death than he was by that of Concini, or, afterwards, by that 
of Richelieu, to whom he owed the fact that he was able to keep his 
crown and hand it down to his descendants. 



Sully and the Death of Gabrielle d'Estrees 

years later were to be only too well-acquainted with the 
reappearance of such adjuncts to royalty. 

Had Sully survived for seven months more he would 
have outlived Marie de Medici. 

The Duchesse de Sully caused a superb white marble 
statue of her husband to be made in Italy which was 
placed in the Chateau de Villebon. It should have stood 
elsewhere, namely, in the heart of Paris and, for choice, 
near to, or opposite, that of his great master on the 
Pont Neuf. 

For, with all his faults — and there were many that 
SuUy possessed — he had, at least, the great merit of 
fidelity to the hand that caressed him — a virtue too often 
absent from our poor human nature. He was rough, 
uncouth, hard, and often insolent, even to his master. 
To his credit, however, he endeavoured in every way to 
curb that master in his weaknesses and failings, to cause 
him to be a better husband to the woman who was a 
good and loyal wife to him, if an ungracious one — and 
he was true to Henri in word, thought and deed. He 
tried, also, to prevent his reckless expenditure and 
the attempt was praiseworthy though rudely performed. 

So far as one imperfect being can be a god to another, 
Henri was Sully's god, and the death of Henri was the 
eclipse of Sully's life. It has been said by cynics that 

157 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

he could have worshipped none other who would have 
repaid him so well for his adoration, but, in spite of 
what has been stated as to his desire for money and 
great possessions, the remark may be dismissed as an 
unworthy one. He did grow rich in that master's 
service, but there were no original prospects of his ever 
doing so ; he followed loyally the poor and, once, almost 
dethroned Huguenot King of Navarre and served him 
as faithfully as he afterwards did when he became the 
great King of France. 

Of his (Economies Royales something has been said 
here, and far more might have been said had space 
allowed ; but, in sober fact, they harmed no one and 
nothing but himself and his own reputation ; and, even 
at their worst, they are a valuable assistance to history. 
There is much vanity in them, much traducing of those 
who had aroused his jealousy ; but, where no reason 
for envy or hatred can be traced, they may be thoroughly 
relied upon. 

And, to end all, he was a true and faithful husband 
to both his wives, and an affectionate and careful father. 
In the sum of human qualities his good ones far ex- 
ceeded the bad, and to this there has to be added the 
long-since recognized fact that he was a great and 
truly remarkable man. 



158 




Le Due d'Epernon. 
From a picture by an unknown artist, once in the possession of Madame de Sevigne. 



\_Facing p. iSg. 



CHAPTER IV 

TRAITOR AND FAVOURITE — LE DUG d'EPERNON AND 
HENRIETTE, MARQUISE DE VERNEUIL 

TEAN LOUIS DE NOGARET, DE LA VALETTE, 
J Due d'^pernon and Pair de France, who, at the 
time of the assassination of Henri IV., held the positions 
of an admiral of France, first gentleman of the chamber, 
colonel of all the infantry, and Governor of Angou- 
mois, Saintonge and Aunis, la Rochelle, Limousin, Nor- 
mandy, Loches and the district of Messin, was a man 
who, perhaps, more nearly represented the bravoes 
and bullies whom that eminent dramatist, M. Pixere- 
court (the author of the Forest of Bondy, termed 
" Le Chien de Montargis," in France), was in the habit 
of providing for the French stage in the early part of 
the nineteenth century, or the bravoes and bullies 
whom our fathers and grandfathers were accustomed 
to see on the boards of the Surrey Theatre, than did 
any other person of his time. 

In d'j^pernon's earlier days he had been one of the 

159 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

atrocious mignons who were the inseparable companions 
of Henri III. and shared in all his bestial pursuits, and 
he had taken part in arranging the savage duel in which 
he and his companions had involved Bussy d'Amboise 
and his friends. A little later he insulted the miserable 
king whose creature he was, and who bore his insolence 
without retaliating and while shedding tears ; and, 
but a few days afterwards, in the presence of his master, 
he threatened to apply to VUleroy, a Secretary of State, 
as many kicks with his spurred boots as he would to 
a restive horse. Villeroy was, however, a man of a 
different type from Henri HI. and d'Epernon saw fit 
to arrange terms of peace with him ere matters went 
any farther. 

But the Due d'Epernon can scarcely have cared for 
any of the occupations of those mignons of whom he 
was one, unless it were the outdoor portion of their 
existence devoted to insulting other persons, and, as a 
corollary, to running them through. He was, indeed, 
formed for stronger deeds than dressing himself as a 
wanton or singing vulgar and degrading songs to a 
worn-out voluptuary. 

Born the son of a simple gentleman — some say of 
good family, though others state that he was a retired 
notary, which was not considered to be the position of 
a gentleman in the France of those days — d'^^pernon 

i6o 



Traitor and Favourite 

commenced to acquire wealth and rank by his servile 
ministering to the ignoble pleasures of Henri HI. So 
early as his twenty-seventh year he had obtained from 
the latter the vast estate known as D'Espernon,* which 
Henri created into a Duchy and then conferred upon 
his favourite, while ordering that he should take his 
place immediately after the princes of the blood-royal. 
As years went on d'Epernon's means continued to 
increase — his cupidity being equal to his desire for 
advancement and power — until at the end of his long 
life he was probably the richest subject in France who 
did not possess one drop of royal blood — Valois or 
Bourbon — in his veins. 

The appearance of the man was but little in keeping 
with his character of bully or overbearing soldier and 
duellist, since he was small and insignificant as well 
as full-lipped and inclined to be bald, but his disposi- 
tion was in keeping with his temper. He was impa- 
tient under contradiction, unsociable, haughty with his 
equals and brutal to his inferiors, a civil answer or 
remark being only accorded by him to those who, he 
very well knew, were able either to extort it or punish 
him for not according it freely. On one occasion, how- 
ever, at the end of his life, he was so severely humiliated 
that the disgrace administered such a shock to his 
* The eaxlier spelling of the name, 

i6i II 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

already worn-out system that it was considered by many 
to have brought about his death. 

During his tenure of the governorship of Guienne 
— from which he drew two miUion livres a year — he 
got into a dispute with the Archbishop of Bordeaux 
over some prerogatives, and also some sums of money 
to which he considered himself entitled. The Arch- 
bishop refusing to accord these, d'Epernon caused 
the carriage of the prelate to be stopped by his soldiers, 
whereupon the Archbishop descended from it, excom- 
municated the men, and retreated into his palace. 
D'Epernon at once besieged the palace and, entering 
it forcibly, brutally assaulted the Archbishop, struck 
him about the body and knocked his hat off with 
his cane, when he himself was also excommunicated. 
Louis XIII., hearing of this, removed d'Epernon from 
all his offices and exiled him to Coutras. The braggart 
had then to write to the Archbishop pleading for 
pardon, which he did not receive until he had sued 
for it and for a removal of the excommunication on his 
knees, and had been forced to listen to a reproof of the 
most humiliating nature. 

Ere, however, this time arrived, he had passed long 

years in endeavouring to overthrow the attempts of 

Henri IV. to obtain the crown ; in revolting against 

him when it was obtained, in cringing for pardon for 

162 



Traitor and Favourite 

each offence from the moment it was discovered, and 
in immediately putting into action a fresh piece of 
treason. Indeed, if, in his black heart, there was one 
spot more evil than the others, it must have been that 
in which was contained his hatred for Henri IV. He 
had fought against him as an open enemy — which was 
no crime ! — yet had not the common honesty of an 
open enemy and a worthy foe to refrain from plotting 
against Henri when peace was made ; nor, indeed, had 
he even the loyalty of one conspirator towards another. 
When plots were in the air he was of them, yet never 
was his name known, or his part in them discovered, 
ijntil the time had passed when his treachery could 
■produce any ill-effects towards him. 

When Henri III. was assassinated, many of the lead- 
ing nobles of France, recognizing that the wisest act 
on their part would be to accept Henri of Navarre as 
their King, determined to sign a proclamation acknow- 
ledging him. D'Epernon expressed his willingness to 
do so — yet, on the time arriving, he invented a sly excuse 
for refusing. He had had time for reflection ! He 
recalled the fact that Henri would, if he now signed the 
proclamation, become his King, and that, consequently, 
any act on his part against that King could be adjudged 
treachery. Also, he did not forget that he had grown 

enormously wealthy and that, as a traitor to his bond 

163 II* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

of fidelity, it would be possible for him to be deprived 
of that wealth even if his life were spared ; while, 
should he be able to keep on good terms with the 
man who was now almost certain to become King 
of France, his vast fortune might be still more in- 
creased. As for treason, he could, in any case, 
practise it in private, and at the same time there 
would not be the damning evidence against him of his 
own signature. 

A reason had, however, to be given for his refusal 
to sign which should not make him stand out too con- 
spicuously as an abstainer from an agreement to which 
men of far more illustrious family than his own had 
been willing to subscribe. His cunning was not long 
in devising a reason for that refusal. Two of the most 
important personages in France, the Marshal de Biron 
and the Marshal d'Aumont, happened to have already 
placed their names upon the proclamation, and 
d'Epernon, learning this, at once seized upon the fact 
as an excuse for not doing so himself. He stated that 
he had been quite willing to sign, but that he could 
not consent to prejudice his rank so far as to do so below 
the names of any persons not being Dukes and peers of 
France, as he was himself ; after which he retired while 
still vociferating loudly that, outside the matter of the 

signature, he was as willing to welcome the King of 

164 



Traitor and Favourite 

Navarre to the throne of France as any person in the 
land could be. 

If this were by any possibility the case, the Due 
d'Epernon took a strange way of testifying to it. 
From the time Henri became King of France, namely, 
in 1589, his whole career was spent in preventing him 
from enjoying the possession of his kingdom in peace. 
The League, under the command of the Due de Mayenne, 
was still in watchful activity and could, if necessary, 
place in the field an army four times stronger in numbers 
than that of Henri. Nevertheless, the latter beat that 
army whenever he encountered it, and the siege of 
Arques, near Dieppe, and the battle of Ivry testified 
to the fact that the time was at hand when the crown 
would be secured to him and his descendants. More- 
over, at this time there came to his assistance the most 
powerful ally that could have been found in Europe, 
namely, Elizabeth of England. She was at this period 
the true head of the Protestant Faith ; not two years 
before Henri's accession she, aided by the subjects who 
worshipped her, had crushed the Spanish Armada which 
represented the Faith that she had good reason to hate ; 
and the desire of her heart was that that Faith should 
never again obtain the importance it had once possessed. 

Yet Spain still hoped for much, and, though recog- 
nizing that England had torn itself free for ever from 

165 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

her grasp and her religion, she still anticipated that 
the dissensions in France might at least bring that 
country into her possession. If traitors on one side 
and assassins on the other could have conduced to this 
end, Spain would not have failed in her hopes. One 
of the latter had been found to slay the Prince of Orange, 
another had attempted to slay Elizabeth, a dozen and 
more had whetted their knives against Henri. While, for 
enemies against the latter, there was banded the greater 
part of the old nobUity, who were all in favour of 
Philip II. 's desires, and, for traitors who would stop at 
nothing, there was — M. le Due d'Epernon ! Spain was 
pouring forth her gold — not by handsful, but by ship- 
loads — in the employment of assassins and traitors ; 
it was not likely that, with his greed combined with his 
hatred for the monarch who knew him for what he was 
and despised him, d'Epernon would be out of the way 
whUe the golden showers were falling, and when there 
was an opportunity for wreaking his vengeance on a 
man whom he loathed. 

He had for some years earlier been inclined towards 
Spain and her desires, and, even at the period when he 
was fighting as an open foe against Henri and disputing 
the possession of Provence against him, he was in the 
pay of Philip II. He was not, however, very successful 

in his efforts, as the young Due de Guise, who was not 

i66 



Traitor and Favourite 

of The League, wrenched Marseilles, and, indeed, the 
whole of Provence, away from him. To console him, 
and to, if possible, bind him to his cause, Henri after- 
wards gave d'Epernon the government of Limousin, 
and conferred on him many other substantial benefits. 

Become a member of the King's party, d'Epernon 
instantly commenced a series of intrigues against him, 
and even sought to draw Marie de Medici into compliance 
with his schemes ; but if he thought that he was throw- 
ing dust in the King's eyes he was never more mistaken. 
Henri knew the man's character thoroughly, and he 
soon recognized that, though d'Epernon was not above 
being bribed, he was far from likely to give any return 
for the gifts he received. Gradually, therefore, the 
latter's lucrative posts were withdrawn from him ; he 
ceased to be colonel-general of the infantry, and, which 
was the worst of all blows. Governor of Metz. This 
ioss was, indeed, enormous to the intriguer, since Metz 
was close to the possessions of Spain and Austria 
(Franche-Comte and the Netherlands), with which he 
was constantly in, communication, while the equally 
severe loss of his military command deprived him of 
an army which, when he should find it necessary, he 
could at any moment have thrown into the scales 
against Henri and for Spain. He had often boasted of 
" his Austrian Kingdom," as he termed Metz ; he was 

167 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

now an exile from that kingdom and his rage was 
terrible, while his desire for vengeance was sharpened 
to a deadly degree. 

The time for endeavouring to exercise that vengeance 
was, however, not yet at hand. The seed was sown, but 
it had yet to germinate. Later, we shall see what 
fruit its growth produced. 

Meanwhile, the Due d'Epernon was probably the 
best hated man in France, not only by the people but 
by those of his own rank ; and he, who was always ready 
to hurl insults and abuse at others, was, from the death 
of Henri III., himself the mark for much well-deserved 
obloquy. Brantome narrates in his best manner how, 
when the Duke was appointed to the governorship of 
Provence, a book was hawked about the streets — in 
the usual manner of publishing — entitled, " The Great 
Deeds, Brilliant Acts and Bravery " (" hauts-faits, gestes 
et vaillances ") "of M. d'Epernon on his Road to Pro- 
vence." It was handsomely bound and the title was 
beautifully stamped in gold on the cover, but the 
purchasers discovered on opening it that all the pages 
were blank and contained — Nothing ! 

At BrignoUes, in Provence, where he had also made 
himself hated by his insolence and cruelties, the in- 
habitants undermined his residence with a view to its 

falling in and crushing him, and a miracle alone saved 

i68 



Traitor and Favourite 

him. At Angouleme, the Mayor went with some 
troops to arrest him for having quitted Loches, to 
which he had been exiled from Paris by order of Henri, 
and he only saved himself by flying to another room 
by a private staircase. As he did so, however, the 
whole of the struciure gave way beneath him, it having 
been prepared for his destruction, which would cer- 
tainly have taken place had he not sped over it so 
quickly in his flight.* 

Enough has now been told of the character of the 
worst man of any prominence in France at the time of 
the assassination of Henri IV., but before we proceed 
to discuss the remarkable series of schemes and plots 
by which that unfortunate monarch was surrounded 
at the time of his death, it is not inadvisable to narrate 
the miseries that righteously fell on d'Epernon ere he 
died at an advanced age (eighty-eight). 

He had long outlived the other detestable mignons, 
Quelus, Saint-Mesgrin, Maugiron and Joyeuse. He 
had seen his children die before him ; he had been 
present at the marriage of his second son with the 
daughter of Henriette d'Entragues, and had witnessed 
that son strike his future wife in the face before all 
the Court ere the betrothal was signed, and he was to 

* L'Estoile. " Rencontre du Due d'Epernon et Ravaillac aux enfers." 
De Bury. M^moires, Sully. M^moires, Marechal de Bouillon. 
D'Aubigne. 

169 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

learn, four years later, that the ruffian had poisoned 

her at last. Truly, if heaven ever exacts an earthly 

vengeance, it did so from the wretched father of the 

bridegroom and the mother of the bride, both of whom 

had, in earlier years, been two of the most evil people 

in France, even if they were not two of the principals 

in a plot to murder the best King- — as a King — that 

France ever possessed. 

One good act d'Epemon may, or, rather, might be 

credited with, if the suspicion did not force itself upon 

our minds that, in performing it, he was gratifying more 

his spite against Louis XIII. than endeavouring to 

help a cruelly-treated woman. He lent his assistance 

in aid of the escape of Marie de Medici from the Chateau 

de Blois, to which she had been consigned for life by 

her son, although at first' he tried hard to excuse himself 

from doing so. Reflection, however, caused d'l^pemon 

to recognize the fact that, not only would the escape 

of the Queen-mother cause bitter mortification to the 

King who had long since discarded him, but, which 

would be more gratifying to his own rancour, to the 

favourite, de Luynes, who was responsible for the fact 

that Marie had ever been sent away from Paris and 

incarcerated at Blois. For d'Epernon had himself once 

been a favourite, and, naturally, all favourites who 

succeeded him were obnoxious. But there were other 

170 



Traitor and t^avourii^ 

grievances to be arranged. Louis had ordered him, 
when he came to pay his respects, to appear unaccom- 
panied by the eight hundred lances who were his 
usual escort, since the King said that they were totally 
unnecessary for a " servitor," and de Lujmes had suc- 
cessfully used all his influence to prevent d'Epernon's 
third son, the Archbishop of Toulouse, from obtaining 
the Cardinal's hat. 

Nevertheless, the Duke hesitated to help Marie, He 
had steeped his hands sufficiently in treachery, and 
he was far from considering it wise to be again in- 
volved in further treason ; nor would he have consented 
to aid Marie — whose name had once been coupled 
with his in an unfavourable, though an entirely false, 
manner — ^had not two of his sons, the Marquis de la 
Valette and the Archbishop of Toulouse, persuaded 
him to do so. The prelate was burning with rage at 
the refusal of the hat, and the Marquis was a true son 
of his father. Yet still he wavered, in spite of a touch- 
ing letter which Marie had sent him ; and doubtless 
he would have altogether refused to help her, had not 
a scheming abbe named Ruccelai, a Florentine and a 
creature of Concini, brought a pressure to bear upon 
him from which he saw no way of escaping except by 
consenting to lend his aid in the evasion of the unhappy 

Queen. This man, Ruccelai, was one of those harpies 

171 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

who, even in those days, was a disgrace to his calling ; 
a terror to women whom he blackmailed and a pander 
to those from whom he expected patronage. He had, 
however, refined tastes ; his table was of the most 
delicate nature ; he squandered the money he knew 
how to obtain easily ; he was full of artistic ideas, 
and he boasted that even the Queen had looked on 
him with favourable eyes. This was undoubtedly a 
lie, yet it was to him that Marie first suggested that 
assistance should be found to aid her in her escape 
from Blois. 

The abbe at once embraced the idea. Bassompierre 
(who, as popular favourite and ami de femmes received 
information from his brother courtiers, and, also, many 
strange whispers from his fair friends) says that Ruccelai, 
with the view of leaving Paris without causing remark, 
denounced himself anonymously to the Court so that 
he should be openly driven from it. The ruse suc- 
ceeded, and he was ordered to retire to his parish of 
Ligny near Sedan, which was the very thing he desired 
to do. Remembering, however, that he had once out- 
witted d'Epernon in a quarrel with the latter's nephew, 
whose side the Duke had espoused, he sent some of 
his Italian friends to confer with the Marquis de la 
Valette and the Archbishop of Toulouse. Their father 

being resolute to have nothing to do with Ruccelai, 

172 



Traitor and Favourite 

the abbe caused d'Epernon to be informed that he held 
in his hands enough proof of some of his later treacheries 
to Louis XIII. to send him to the block, and d'Epernon, 
who knew that the boast was most probably founded 
on fact, at once consented to meet him. 

With the successful escape of the Queen from Blois 
these pages are not concerned, but as many historians, 
including "Voltaire, who could twist history to his own 
purposes as well as any writer, have claimed much 
credit for the Due d'Epernon in this matter, it has 
been nientioned here. It may also be remarked that 
Ruccelai divided a hundred thousand crowns (twelve 
thousand pounds of English money of that day and 
nearly fifty thousand pounds of our time) between the 
Due de Bouillon and the Due d'Epernon. The sum was 
obtained from the sale of much of the Queen's jewellery, 
and was taken, at least as regards d'Epernon's share, for 
the ostensible reason of providing more troops to protect 
Metz against the attacks of the Austrians and Spaniards. 

* ^ ^ ^ * H: 

Catherine Henriette de Balzac d'Entragues,* one of 

* The name of this family was for over a hundred years spelt in 
different ways. In the time of Henri IV. it was almost universally 
written as above, and I have preferred to follow the custom of 
Henriette's period. It is to be also remarked that neither the 
" Catherine " nor the " de Balzac " was used by those who write of 
her, or by herself, except in legal documents. As Henriette d'Entragues 
she exists for posterity and, as that, I, therefore, speak of her. 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

the persons upon whom has rested for exactly three 
centuries the evil reputation of being concerned in a 
Court conspiracy to slay Henri IV. — out of revenge for 
his having broken his promise to marry her — was the 
daughter of Francois de Balzac, Seigneur d'Entragues 
and Governor of Orleans, and of Marie Touchet, who 
had been both nurse and mistress to Charles IX. 
Although Sully states that Gabrielle was not absolutely 
beautiful, but could only lay claim to being a pretty 
woman, Henriette has been spoken of as inferior to 
her in good looks.* She was, however, slight and 
well-made, extremely distinguished-looking, and 
possessed of a superb figure. Her mouth was small, 
but hard and determined ; her glance commanding 
and authoritative ; pride and contempt for others being 
the characteristics most strongly expressed on her 
face. Nor were these traits belied by her nature. Few, 
except those of the highest rank, came before her who 
were not made to feel that she regarded them as utterly 
insignificant, and it was often suggested in connection 
with her that, whenever a conceited man or woman 
over-estimated any qualities he or she possessed, they 

* The remarkable dissimilarity between the portraits in this work 
and the description of those whom they are intended to represent, 
cannot fail to be noticed. Yet the former are the works of leading 
artists of the period, and the descriptions are taken from the best con- 
temporary authors. 

174 



Traitor and Favourite 

should be brought face to face with Henriette d'En- 
tragues, after which they would probably retire with 
their self-estimation very considerably reduced, if not 
shattered. 

It was not long after the death of Gabrielle — which 
at first he mourned so bitterly ! — that Henri, over- 
hearing some of his friends and courtiers (including 
Bassompierre, who hints that the conversation was 
arranged for his, or, rather, Henriette's benefit) speaking 
of the lady's beauty, expressed a desire to see her. 
From the moment he did so the usual spark was struck 
in his bosom and he laid siege to her, while probably 
imagining that it would be the same in his case as it 
generally is with kings, " who rarely sue in vain." 
In one particular he undoubtedly judged aright. Hen- 
riette was as willing to be wooed and won as Henri was 
to woo and win, but, ere she was satisfied to accept the 
King's love, she was desirous of knowing what the 
reward was likely to be for the acceptance of it. She 
had not forgotten, as none in all but the most remote 
parts of France had forgotten, provided they ever knew, 
that nothing but the sudden death of Gabrielle could 
have prevented her from becotning Queen, since the 
Pope had, at the last moment of her life, announced his 
willingness to divorce Henri from Marguerite de Valois, 
whether she consented or not, and thus provide France 

175 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

with an already existing heir in the shape of the Due 
de Vendome. Now, therefore, that Henriette was 
likely to take the place of the late favourite, she was 
resolved that she would also, at the same time, fall 
heir to the splendid position which that favourite would 
have obtained had she lived. Consequently, she angled 
for the King's capture with all the astuteness of the 
most worldly coquette, and the more strongly her lover 
carried on the siege the more cleverly did she repulse 
hirh. Whenever Henri proposed a visit to her father's 
house she met him, apparently casually, with a dis- 
appointed and woebegone air, and stated that her 
parents were so opposed to his Majesty's pursuit of 
her that it was impossible to accord him even the 
shortest of interviews, but, at the same period, since 
her business aptitudes were always considerable, she 
accepted a gift of a hundred thousand crowns from her 
impetuous admirer ! 

The gift was, however, but a drop in the ocean in 
comparison with that which she intended to obtain 
eventually, but recognizing that a man of the King's 
temperament might not be always disposed to continue 
distributing such platonic largesse, she had recourse to 
a scheme to ensure her future in which she was aided 
by her mother and father, the former of whom had 

had considerable experience of a very similar affair. 

176 



Traitor and Favourite 

Consequently, she announced that, short of Henri 
giving her a written promise of marriage, which 
marriage should take place the moment the Pope 
had carried out his promise and divorced him from 
Marguerite, her parents would separate her from him 
for ever. 

It is, perhaps, needless to say that the written promise 
already referred to in these pages was given with the 
best will in the world. Before, however, it was handed 
to the astute young lady, Henri — who rarely did any- 
thing of importance without consulting Sully or without 
telling him afterwards of what he had already done — 
showed him the contract he had written. Sully (who 
was at this time Baron de Rosny, his dukedom being yet 
to come), read the paper in silence and then returned 
it to his master, who naturally remonstrated with him 
on his manner. On this, the Minister exclaimed several 
times, " You will marry her ! You will marry her ! " 
and, on the King indicating that such was his un- 
doubted intention. Sully took the paper back (as has 
been told) and tore it into pieces. " You are mad ! 
You are a fool ! " Henri cried, even his easy nature 
being aroused at last, whereupon Sully, with his usual 
rough brusquerie, exclaimed, "It is true, sire, yet I 
wish to Heaven I were the only one in France." The 

finale to his episode (as has also been told) was that 

177 12 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Henri picked up tiie pieces of paper, retired into his 
private room and, putting them together, made a 
fresh copy of the promise of marriage, which copy he 
shortly afterwards handed to Henriette, whom, a little 
later, he created Marquise de Verneuil. 

From this time forward until his death Henri was, 
more or less, in the toils of his astute Favorite declaree, 
and that in spite of the fact that he had married Marie 
de M6dici. At the same time he was, however, by no 
means averse to indulging in a little diplomacy on his 
own part which preserved the peace between them for 
a certain time. Henriette having retired to inspect 
the property which she had acquired with her title, 
was kept in total ignorance that negotiations were in 
hand for bringing about his marriage with Marie de 
Medici, but when she did learn how she had been 
hoodwinked her rage was terrible. It was, however, 
ineffectual. She had gone to Lyons to receive the 
banners recently captured by Henri from the troops 
of the Duke of Savoy, and, though she was flattered 
by this openly expressed homage, she refused to remain 
a moment longer in the city after she heard that the 
marriage with la grosse banquiere, as she termed the 
future queen, was imminent. When, at last, she con- 
sented to see the King she treated him to such a torrent 

of vituperation that even his easy temper was scarcely 

178 



Traitor and Favourite 

proof against her fury. Henriette, in addition to the 
above appellation, now commenced to use, and to con- 
tinue to use, the most offensive terms her vocabulary 
could supply. She spoke of herself as the queen — by 
written promise — and of the Queen in the worst 
manner — namely, as what she was herself ; her son was 
truly the dauphin, she said, and the Dauphin what her 
own son actually was ; and she refused to let that son 
be nursed and brought up with the Dauphin on the plea 
that the legal one to whom she had given birth could 
not associate with the son of the Florentine mistress. 

Henri bore it well for a long time, while doubtless 
remembering that whatever he had to endure was due 
to his own failings ; but at last he retaliated. The 
continual questions about his hanquiere — a double shaft 
at one of the commercial pursuits of the Medicis as well 
as at the money which Marie had brought him — roused 
him eventually. To a repeated question of when la 
grosse banquiire would return to the Court from Fontaine- 
bleau, he retaliated, " When I have swept all the im- 
proper women out of it." 

Henriette's first attempt to insult the Queen had been 
at the moment when Marie, on arriving in Paris, had 
requested that all the ladies of the Court should be 
presented to her. Among them was Henriette, who 
was introduced by the Duchesse de Nemours. Henri, 

179 12* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

however, possibly with a view to avoiding unpleasant 

questions and complications in the future, and in a 

manner which shows as plainly as anything can show 

what the state of society was at that time, exclaimed 

to his newly-made wife as the presentation of Henriette 

was made, " Celle-ci a ete ma maitresse," a startling 

piece of information which Marie received with a chilly 

stare at the handsome beauty and Henriette with an air 

of utter indifference. A moment later, since it was 

necessary that the debutantes should bend low and, 

lifting the hem of the Queen's robe, kiss it, Henriette, 

scarcely bending at all from her considerable height, 

grasped the dress close by the Queen's knee and roughly 

lifted it towards her lips. Henri was not, however, 

disposed to see this slight put upon his newly-made 

wife and, seizing the other's hand, forced it to the hem 

of the robe and compelled his mistress to perform her 

part properly. 

These incidents created, as was natural enough, 

considerable sensation. Almost every writer of the 

period has left an account of them on record, and all 

the ambassadors mentioned them to their governments 

in their next despatches. 

As she had begun when Henriette d'Entragues, so 

she continued when Marquise de Verneuil. She was, 

indeed, the poison of the unfortunate Queen's life, 

1 80 



Traitor and Favourite 

though, in administering the draught, she did not escape 
from swallowing some of the drops herself. She 
showed the promise of marriage from Henri to everyone 
who would take the trouble to look at it until, at last, 
she became almost a laughing-stock ; and, had she not 
possessed within her a strong power for evil, would 
have ended by becoming one. Later, however, when 
she finally recognized that, do what she might, the 
Queen would always be the Queen and she nothing but 
the favourite, she informed the King that she intended 
to leave France with her children and take up her abode 
in England ; whereupon Henri, tired of the handsome 
virago's frequent outbreaks, if not of her charms, con- 
sented to her doing so. He also saw in this suggestion 
the long desired opportunity for obtaining possession 
of the much exhibited promise of marriage, and, 
consequently, would only give his permission for 
Henriette to depart out of France on condition that she 
restored it to him. She, on her part, was equal to the 
occasion and, seeing in the transaction a chance of 
gratifying her unfailing cupidity, demanded twenty 
thousand crowns and the promise of the rank of a 
marshal for her father in exchange for the paper. The 
money was paid, and the promise given, with an 
alacrity that was little flattering to her feelings. 

The Marquise had, however, no intention whatever 

i8i 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

of exiling herself, and, as she no longer had any tangible 

claim on her lover, she next conceived the design of a 

treasonable plot to slay the King and the Dauphin 

and put her own son on the throne ; and in this 

plot she involved her father and her half-brother, 

the Comte d'Auvergne — a son of her mother and 

Charles IX. 

The plot was suggested to England (!) and Spain, 

it is said, but James I. — who hated bloodshed where 

kings were concerned — ^instantly exposed it to Henri 

with the result that Henriette found herself a prisoner 

in her own house under the charge of the Captain of 

the Watch, while, always bold and defiant, she rejected 

an offer of pardon made by Henri on the ground that 

she knew nothing whatever of the scheme, and that, 

where there was no sin, a pardon was unnecessary. 

She also refused to appear before the Commissioners 

appointed to examine her and her brother on the ground 

that she had recently been bled (a custom indulged in 

with great regularity by the upper classes at this period 

and for long afterwards), but, in actual fact, because 

she was anxious to know how the Comte d'Auvergne 

had comported himself during his examination. The 

manner in which he had done so was by betraying her 

as the head of the conspiracy, and, when the Marquise 

heard this, she informed the King that the only demand 

182 



Traitor and Favourite 

she required him to grant was " A rope for her brother, 
a pardon for her father, and justice for herself." The 
latter request was by no means acceded to, or, at least, 
was much perverted, since she obtained something very 
different from what she deserved. After being detained 
at the Abbey of Beaumont-les-Tours, where she was 
treated with every indulgence, she was fully pardoned 
and, a little while afterwards, had again ensnared the 
King in her toils. From these he only escaped occa- 
sionally by transferring his affections to several other 
ladies in succession. Her father and brother were con- 
demned to death, but, beyond being detained for some 
time, suffered no other punishment. 

This was the first attempt at treason on the part of 
La Marquise de Verneuil, but we shall see later that, 
if it was her last, her powers of intrigue, treachery and 
womanly spite have been much overrated. 

Henriette was still a young woman at the time of this 
conspiracy, and was, indeed, but twenty-seven at the 
time of the assassination of Henri. But her tempestuous 
passions had aged her before her time and she had 
become a self-indulgent woman, fond of the table and 
good cheer. She was also a bitterly disappointed one, 
since, after Gabrielle had so nearly approached the 
throne that nothing but her death prevented her from 
ascending it, Henriette had every reason to suppose, 

183 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

that, with the written promise of marriage in her pocket, 
she would undoubtedly do so in her place. For, when 
Gabrielle died and Henriette became almost immediately 
her successor, Henri was not looking out for a wealthy 
bride, and it was in the power of the latter, as it had 
been in that of the former, to so enthral him that, in 
spite of his necessities and lack of money, he would 
never have thought of doing so. That she should, 
therefore, have become " yellow and thin " — it was the 
victory of the wife over the mistress that the King 
should have used these very words about the latter 
when writing to the former ! — that she should have 
become fat and enormous — la grosse banquidre was at 
last avenged ! — and that, finally, she should have 
nothing to think of but her meals, which she loved, is, 
consequently, not to be wondered at.* 

But if the high feeding in which she indulged made 
her gross, there was a reason which, earlier, might well 
have made her yellow and thin. The grossness came 
after the death of Henri, the latter before it. For a 
long time she lived under the apprehension that the 
Queen intended to have her made away with, a fear 
which, remembering how poison was freely administered 
to rivals and enemies in those days, and remembering 

* The latter part of the description of La Marquise de Verneuil 
is that of Tallemant des Reaux. He knew much — and he was not 
one to curb his pen ! 

184 



Traitor and Favourite 

also the reputation borne by the de Medicis in connection 
with the art of poisoning, was not unreasonable. 

In any case, there was a strong rumour over all Paris 
that Henriette had gone too far and that, though the 
Queen might have tolerated a well-concealed affaire 
with her husband, she could not endure the other 
woman's open insolence. Once Marie had been heard 
to cry out that the " creature " had no other aim in 
life but to torture her and plunge her into continued 
sorrow, and she had concluded by saying that, at the 
right time, she would avenge herself. She was also 
known to have written to her uncle, the Grand Duke, 
in a similar strain, but she received only cold comfort 
from him. It was the habit of this astute and ease- 
loving personage to invariably endeavour to calm the 
distracted feelings of his niece and to reconcile her to 
what he was pleased to deem nothing more than small 
domestic worries. The manner in which he did so was 
a peculiar, as well as a diplomatic, one. He would 
write to Marie reminding her that he had made her 
Queen of the — at the moment — most powerful country 
in Europe, when he might, on the contrary, have con- 
signed her to an obscure position in Portugal, or to a 
third-rate Italian duchy ; and he generally concluded 
his epistles by telling her that he was thoroughly annoyed 
with her — to which he occasionally added that he was. 

185 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

also thoroughly ashamed of her peevish complaints. 
The Queen, in consequence, got little sympathy from 
her uncle on this occasion, nor was it very probable that 
she would ever do so. Such a trifle as a mistress in a 
Court over which Marie reigned supreme, after her 
husband, would probably appear to him no more worthy 
of serious notice than a leaf which had blown across 
her face as she took her daily walk in the gardens of 
the Tuileries would be. 

Nevertheless, as Richelieu states — and he was at 
this time watching everything that occurred with a 
hawk-like eye ! — ^the matter was considered to be grave. 
The Queen, of whom Henriette spoke as " a woman of 
vindictive Florentine blood," was causing the latter to 
be shadowed in every movement, while Henriette was 
so afraid that she would shortly be openly insulted 
by Marie and held up to the contempt of everyone at 
Court, that she refrained from attending it. 

At the same time, Henri received several anonymous 

communications to the effect that the life of his mistress 

was in serious danger of being cut short, and — although 

Richelieu astutely hints that the information came 

from the Queen, who considered this the best method 

of frightening her rival out of the city — they at least 

struck terror to the hearts of the King and Henriette. 

If the intention of the writer had been to drive the 

i86 




(hiSt-vajfe mv l^nhiefyluylMa d^ franco, 
. iCMeaaww Iccceur iW "Winc^ tiovu-v ardl , 
' Et cjuJorumidf^'nul mnm ne ronvefonjonmdl- 



T/; ; . 1l' l. 014" c / f^wftKt. prt , 






Henriette de Balzac d'Entragues 
(Marquise de Verneuil). 



IFacing p. 186^ 



( 



Traitor and Favourite 

already terrified woman from Paris it undoubtedly 
succeeded admirably. Henri sent her off accompanied 
by a considerable body of troops and peace was estab- 
lished at the Louvre for some time. 

Meanwhile, the appellation by which Henri had been 
pleased to introduce Henriette to the Queen never 
ceased to belong to her ; instead of saying " celle-ci a 
ete," he should have said " celle-ci est." She never 
utterly lost the position she held towards him at that 
time, although she shared the honour with several 
other ladies, and although she- was concerned in, or, at 
least, was well acquainted with, all the plots laid against 
his life.* 

On the death of Henri, Henriette put forth a claim 
to a pension, and, either because Louis XHI. had not 
then developed the extreme prudery which was after- 
wards so conspicuous in him — a remarkable contrast to 
his father, son and great-great-grandson ! f — or because 
he had not then developed the somewhat parsimonious 
habits which took possession of him in his later days, 
she obtained one. His Majesty allowed her a grant 
for life of three thousand crowns, so that, with what 
she had earlier obtained from Henri, she was well 
provided for. 

* M4moires, Bassompierre, Richelieu, Montglat and Cardinal 
Borghese. 

t Louis XV., great-grandson of Louis XIV. 

187 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

In this and the preceding sketches an attempt has 
been made to depict only those who were the leading 
persons in Paris at the time of the murder of Henri IV. 
— there were not many who towered immensely above 
the others — but there are still a number of pawns in 
the game who have yet to play their parts. Ravaillac, 
who struck the blows that killed the King, has to be 
brought before the reader's notice later on ; but 
Ravaillac was in no way connected with those who 
have been described. A man who was so poor at the 
time that, a day or so before he did the deed, he stood 
hat in hand outside a church door begging for alms, 
and who stole the knife with which he slew the King 
either from off a butcher's block or from the miserable 
tavern wherein he harboured, would have no part or 
parcel with the leading personages of France. Nor 
would a woman yet to be mentioned, one who was wild 
and wanton and depraved, it is said, and a discarded 
lady's maid — yet stiU one who, hearing of a plot to slay 
Henri, nobly sacrificed her freedom for ever and risked 
sacrificing her existence — have any more place amongst 
them than had the assassin himself. And there were 
yet others concerned in the various endeavours to de- 
prive the King of his life. Nobles who hated Henri for 
having defeated them in the great game of war, 

for having obtained a throne from which they had 

i88 



Traitor and Favourite 

striven their utmost to keep him ; women, too, some 

of high rank, who had been passed over or flung 

aside by Henri when intoxicated with the charms of 

Gabrielle d'Estrees or Henriette d'Entragues ; discarded 

soldiers and men of broken fortunes, Jesuits, spies 

of Spain, Austria, Italy and other countries — and 

many more. 

But to bring, as carefully as can be, a clear picture 

before the eyes of those into whose hands these pages 

may chance to fall, it will shortly become necessary 

for the subject to cease to be of a biographical nature 

and to assume the form of a narrative, while special 

care has to be taken to prevent the deed of Ravaillac 

from being blended with a plot conceived in circles to 

which he could never have obtained admission. Great 

care has, indeed, to be taken to dispel — even if it can 

be dispelled ! — the idea which has for long years held 

possession of readers and students, namely, that 

Ravaillac was but a weapon in the hands of those far 

above him, and that, when he struck the King to the 

heart, he but did so at the instigation of d'Epernon, the 

Marquise de Verneuil, one or two other cast-off mistresses 

of Henri, and — as some have ventured to hint — of the 

Queen herself. For Ravaillac, the fanati'^, the seer of 

visions, the wretched, provincial schoolmaster, had no 

more connection with the wealthy and highly-placed 

189 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre ^jrf^'^ 

men and women of Henri's Court than he had with 
Philip 11. of Spain, who was hiring murderers right and 
left to assassinate all prominent Protestants ; or than 
he had with the lurking assassins and cut-throats who 
hid in the slums of Paris ready to hire out their daggers 
to any who would pay their services with a handful of 
silver ; or with the French fugitives who had fled to 
Milan or Florence or Naples, but were willing to risk 
returning to Paris when the hour they awaited was at 
hand and when the wherewithal for the cost of their 
journey across the Alps was forthcoming. 

In fine, d'Epernon and his associates knew nothing 
of Ravaillac or his diseased mind and hideous determina- 
tions, and Ravaillac knew nothing of the fact that an 
envious and furious nobleman had banded himself with 
some envenomed and embittered women to send the 
ruler of France to his tomb. Ravaillac could not see, 
or anticipate, that on the day he struck the blow other 
assassins were ready and lurking near the King's route 
prepared to do the deed themselves ; the Court plotters 
could not see, or anticipate, that, ere their intentions 
could be carried out, a beggar in the streets would 
have done the work they had paid their hirelings to 
perform. 

D':^pernon lived to find himself utterly discredited 
at Court ; ignored by the successor of the King he so 

190 




Traitor and Favourite 

hated, flouted by the greatest Minister — RicheUeu— 
that France has ever known, jeered at by the populace 
and despised by all. Voltaire quotes a story, often 
told before his day, of the manner in which d'Epernon 
endeavoured to appear indifferent to the treatment 
that was now his portion. Descending the great stair- 
case of the Louvre he met Richelieu ascending it, and, 
on the Cardinal asking indifferently if there was any- 
thing new taking place, d'Epernon replied, " Nothing, 
except that, as you see, I am going down and you are 
going up." It is the only witticism ever attributed 
to him, and it would have been well if his memory could 
have been charged with more of such humorous sallies 
and with less crimes and brutalities.* It does not, 
indeed, appear that, devoted to treachery as he was, he 
was ever a traitor to Henri III. but he had still other 
desires which he lost no opportunity of gratifying. 
His insatiable greed was never slaked, nor did he in- 
tend that it should be. Beside the wealth, possessions 
and high ofhces he obtained from him whom he 
served, he induced his first master to persuade the 
sister of Queen Louise to become engaged to him, and 
he passed his softer hours in endeavouring to win the 
affections of any young Spanish ladies of position who 
happened to be of the Court circle, so that, when he 

* La Vie du Due d'Espernon, par Girard, son secretaires 
.191 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

had them in his power, he could force them to divulge 
the secret intentions of Spain concerning France under 
Henri III., and its future action against the man who 
would almost of a certainty become Henri IV. 

Finally, he died a miserable old man and, as his sons 
left no successors, the name of d'Epernon, as con- 
nected with him, became blotted out of the records of 
France. 

Note. — The Elizabethan dramatist, George Chapman (1SS9-1634J, 
produced in 1613, a drama founded on the career of d'i^pernon. It 
is powerful but inaccurate. Chapman was too close a contemporary 
of d'Epernon to have learnt all that there was to be known about 
liim. 



192 



CHAPTER V 

THE CRIME 

TT has already been suggested that, perhaps, no man 
who ever lived before or since his time saw more 
clearly that his end would be a violent one than did 
Henri IV. It is, however, probable that, at first, when 
he was struggling to maintain his hold on the remnant 
of his own poor little country of Navarre, which Spain, 
if not France, was always endeavouring to wrench 
away from him and incorporate in her own vast domains, 
he did not imagine that the violence of his death would 
take place in any other manner than that which no 
brave soldier fears to meet, namely, in the field. There 
was, at that time, no reason for the assassin to ply his 
horrible trade. It is true that Henri was a Protestant, 
a person the most detested of all people in the greater 
part of Europe, and doubly so when, either as man or 
woman, he or she sat upon a throne. Elizabeth was 
the greatest monarch in Europe and a Protestant, and 
every schoolboy knows to what she was exposed and 

193 13 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

from what she escaped, only by her own force of 
character, her Uon-Iike bravery and her capacity for 
inspiring awe in all beneath her, and especially in those 
who sought to harm her.* So, too, was William the 
Silent, Prince of Orange, a Protestant, and he fell by 
the bullets of Balthazar Gerard, while there were some 
rulers of petty German States who had embraced that 
Faith but had escaped the destiny that found others 
greater than the}^ and the same may be said of James I., 
who, as James of Scotland, was the first Protestant King 
of that country. With Henri his obscurity, while 
only the ruler of a small State, was his security. There 
was little need to murder him ; if he escaped bullet 
and swordthrust in the many melees in which he 
was continually concerned — as it was far from likely 

* One of the least known instances of these attempts was that of a 
young Scotchwoman whose husband had died of grief on hearing of 
the death of Mary, Queen of Scots, and who made her way to EHza- 
beth's Court, determined to assassinate her. In the crowd of courtiers 
one of the pistols with which she was armed fell to the floor, and she 
was instantly seized upon. Elizabeth, after regarding her coldly for a 
moment, said : " You considered it your duty to slay me ; what do 
you now suppose is my duty towards you ? " " Is it as Queen or judge 
that you ask me this ? " the culprit demanded boldly. " As Queen," 
Elizabeth replied. " Then as a woman to a woman you should grant 
me grace." the other said. " How shall I know you will not again 
attempt my life ? " queried Elizabeth. " Madam," the prisoner re- 
plied, " a grace accorded with such precaution is no grace. You had 
best treat me as though you were a judge." " Go, you are free," 
the Queen said now, while, turning to her courtiers, she exclaimed : " I 
have received the best lesson I have ever learnt in the thirty years 
that I have reigned," 



The Crime 

he would do — then there were powers who, either 
single-handed or combined, could at last deprive him 
of his original throne at the time when they con- 
sidered he had been long enough an obstacle in their 
way. 

If, however, Henri had never supposed that a violent 
death would be his portion in any other shape or form 
than that of a soldier's fate, he was undeceived from 
the moment when he, following his mother, Jeanne 
d'Albret, Queen of Navarre in her own right,* arrived 
in Paris in 1572 to espouse Marguerite de Valois, between 
whom and him a marriage had been discussed and 
arranged by their relatives from the time he was a boy. 
This union was projected for more reasons than one, 
the principal being that, thereby, Navarre would 
become an appanage of the French crown, if not an 
integral portion of France, instead of falling into the 
ever-grasping hands of Philip II. of Spain. Yet, in the 

* Perefixe, Archbishop of Paris, states, in his Histoire de Henri le 
Grand, that Henri had great good fortune in finding the French crown 
devolve on him, as there had never been in any hereditary State a 
succession more remote, there being, at one time, ten or eleven 
degrees of separation between him and his predecessor, Henri III. 
When he was born, the Archbishop also remarks, there were nine 
princes of the blood before him, viz., Henri II. and his five sons ; 
Henri's own father, Antoine, King of Navarre by marriage with his 
mother, and two elder brothers of his own. Every one of them died 
before the succession, if not the immediate possession, was open to 
him. The two brothers were infants who died before Henri was born, 
but it is to be observed that Perefixe is himself uncertain as to whether 
the total count was nine, ten or eleven. 

195 13* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

heart of the unscrupulous Catherine de Medici, who had 
the principal part in bringing about the marriage, there 
was still another reason, though one that was distaste- 
ful to her. Two of her sons, Francois II. and Charles 
IX. — who was still living — had sat on the throne, but 
to neither of them had a son been vouchsafed. 
Fran9ois II., dying at the age of seventeen, had been 
accorded no heir by Mary, Queen of Scots, whose first 
husband he was ; and Charles, who had always been 
peculiar and early gave signs of the madness which seized 
upon him after he had consented to the Massacre of 
St. Bartholomew's Eve, was married to Elizabeth, 
daughter of the Emperor Maximilian II., but had 
no lawful children. To him, therefore, would succeed 
Henri III. (at this time Due d'Anjou and shortly to 
be elected King of Poland) ; and though he would 
doubtless marry — as he eventually did — his habits of 
life, his unspeakable depravity and his miserable frame 
scarcely seemed to promise that from him would spring 
a successor to the throne of his ancestors. With him 
and the Due d'Alen9on* gone, there would be none to 
assume that throne but Henri de Bourbon, a Pro- 
testant and head of the fifth branch of that still more 
ancient race, the Capets, from whom both Valois and 

* He died 1584. He was the youngest surviving son of Henry II. 
and Catherine de Medici, a fifth having died in infancy. 

196 



The Crime 

Bourbons deduced their royalty and their rights to the 

crown of France. 

This — the disappearance of all those whom Catherine 

de M6dici, after ten years of childlessness, had provided 

as heirs to that crown, coupled with the fact that they 

themselves could leave no heirs behind — was gall and 

j wormwood to her dark and gloomy soul. She loathed 

'^^Protestantism — she was the prime instigator of the 

, impending massacre [i.e., 1572) ; yet here, in Paris, 

was the only man who appeared likely ever to sit firmly 
i 
\ on the French throne ; he who was a Protestant, a 

Huguenot ! With the above-mentioned views concerning 
Navarre she had, therefore, arranged the marriage of 
her daughter Marguerite with this Protestant, yet it 
is scarcely possible that, later, the fact had escaped her 
mind that, with all her sons either dead or childless, 
and with Marguerite married to Henri of Navarre, the 
young Princess stood a great chance of becoming Queen 
of France and bearing a son, who, in time, would him- 
self become the King. Thus, in one way, the race of 
Valois would be perpetuated, and she, who was the 
wife of one king and the mother of three kings, would 
become also the grandmother of another.* The mar- 
riage, a loveless one, a manage de convenance in the 

* Marguerite de Valois rivalled, and did, indeed, outstrip her mother 
in this particular. For she was the daughter of a king, sister of 
three kings and the wife of a fifth. 

197 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

strictest sense, took place but two or three days before 
the Massacre itself, and since it was decided that every 
Protestant in Paris (and France, if possible) should 
be slaughtered, it was not intended that Henri de 
Navarre should be spared. Yet Marguerite de Valois, 
who not only had no love for him — she was at the 
moment deeply in love with the Due de Guise ! — ^but, 
also, no liking for him, learnt that there was no inten- 
tion of sparing her husband and, by keeping him in the 
apartments allotted to them in the Louvre, undoubtedly 
saved his life. It is also far from likely that she was 
unaware of the suspicions directed against Catherine 
de M6dici concerning the sudden death of his mother, 
and, if such were the case, she would know well enough 
that it was not probable that the son would be treated 
more mercifully at this time. 

This was the first actual attempt, or plot, to assassi- 
nate Henri, and, between it and the time when that of 
Ravaillac succeeded, seventeen more were to intervene. 
It is not, therefore, strange that he should at last come 
to regard a violent death in the future as likely to be as 
much due to assassination as to the chances of war. 

It is, indeed, certain that such was the case, and that, 

as the years passed, he apprehended murder far more 

than he had ever apprehended death in any other 

form. 

198 



The Crime 

As, however, the days went on and one attempt 
after another failed, it is not improbable that the sense 
of apprehension became dulled, and there was little 
exhibition of its existence until the time drew near for 
the last one to succeed. It has been mentioned that 
he ignored the reports repeated to him by his son, the 
Due de Vendome, and that but a few hours later he was 
dead. Yet, indifferent as he might be, he could not 
help recognizing that there was abroad in the minds of 
all his subjects a feeling of certainty that he was a 
doomed man. And his discernment, which was con- 
siderable, could not fail to tell him that this feeling 
would never have become so general if, amongst all 
who possessed it and expressed it, there were not some 
who knew only too well what was in the wind. When 
Henri cried out to Sully, as he did more than once, 
" Pardieu ! I shall die in this town ; they will kill 
me," he was but uttering words of the truth of which 
he had a full conviction. 

He uttered, however, still more strange expressions 
which go far to justify the suspicions many of his people 
then formed, and continued to hold long afterwards, 
that his wife was at the head of some conspiracy against 
him. She had been most eager that he should let her 
be crowned Queen and had complained again and again 
that that sacred rite had never taken place ; that since 

199 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

he was once more going to take the field (shortly before 
his death) it was a duty to her and to the Dauphin that 
it should do so at once, since, if he were slain, the Etats- 
generaux would never consent to make her Queen-Regent 
or guardian to the boy, Louis, without it having been 
performed. This latter reason was, undoubtedly, the 
true one ; the cause of her desire. No woman in her 
position would be willing to see herself suddenly sink 
from the rank of Queen-Consort to a cipher ; no mother 
would wish to lose all hold upon the direction and bring- 
ing-up of a son who was but nine years of age, and still 
less so a mother whose son was at that age King of a 
great country. Yet more than half, more than three- 
quarters, of the French people refused to regard matters 
in this light, and they justified their belief by recalling 
the fact that the truculent d'Epernon strode into the 
Council Chamber a day after Henri's death, and, laying 
his hand upon his sword, threatened the Council with 
internal warfare if Marie was not elected Regent and 
guardian of Louis. 

Yet this action should, in point of fact, have conduced 
more to clear Marie de Medici in the eyes of the public 
than to render that public suspicious of her. For if 
such violence on the part of d'Epernon was necessary, 
of what use was the consecration in St. Denis two days 
before ; what benefit had it conferred on her that the 

200 



The Crime 

upstart duke would not have obtained for her without 
it ? The country was plunged in misery after the long 
wars in which it had been engaged at home and abroad, 
and by the terrible taxation necessary to support those 
wars. Henri's hope that the day would come when 
every peasant would have a fowl in his pot-au-feu was 
more remote from likelihood than had, perhaps, been 
the case for centuries. If, therefore, d'Epernon forced 
on another civU war, as he had the power to do, ruin 
would fall on France and she would be at the mercy 
of her two great enemies, Spain and Austria. Con- 
sequently, the CouncD, knowing all this, had no other 
course but to yield and it yielded, though in doing so 
it outstepped the Law, which was that, when a Regent 
had to be elected, he or she should be so elected by the 
Efats-generaux. Where, therefore, was there any proof 
that, in demanding her coronation, Marie had, amongst 
other things, some sinister ideas of a plot against her 
husband's life ; where was there any connection between 
d'Epernon's authoritative behaviour and the performance 
of a deeply solemn, religious ceremony to which every 
Queen-Consort was entitled, and to which she wis by 
right entitled from the moment her marriage had 
taken place ? Yet Marie had been married to Henri 
for ten years, he being King of France at the time of 
that marriage, and the ceremony had never been 

201 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

accorded her, nor, if Henri had been able to have his 
own way, would it have ever occurred.* 

For, in a somewhat similar manner to those three- 
fourths of his people, though in still a different one, 
he, too, saw something threatening in the consecration. 
But the people drew ominous deductions after his 
murder from its having taken place ; Henri drew 
terrible forebodings from the fact that Marie was 
pressing him for its performance, and from his belief 
that, once it did take place, the ceremony would bring 
evil to him. 

" Ce maudit sacre ! " he exclaimed, using a strange 
combination of words in connection with such a func- 
tion, " will be my ruin, my death." " It will bring 
me to my end," he said to Sully again and again, while 
to Marie he pleaded that the expense would be enormous, 
that it was unnecessary, that she had done well enough 
without it for ten years — anything, indeed, that he 
thought might induce her to forego her desire. 

Marie prevailed, however, and, since the murder of 
Henri did actually follow swiftly after the ceremony, 
it is nothing short of extraordinary that what cannot 

* Henri was from the first much against Marie's coronation, saying 
that it would bring him ill-luck. Yet he joked with her after- 
wards about it — for one day I — calling her " Madame la Regente," 
and pretending to take orders from her, and, as she returned from 
St. Denis, flicking drops of water on her from the balcony upon which 
he stood. 

202 



The Crime 

be described as aught else but a prescience or premoni- 
tion of ill-fortune should have been accorded him. Or — 
is it possible that, to him, there had been conveyed a 
more tangible, if less superstitious, warning ? Is it pos- 
sible that, from among those in Paris who had, beyond 
all doubt, become possessed of the knowledge that 
harm was intended him, one, if not more, had spoken, 
or rather written, plainly, and that Henri (whUe find- 
ing in what was, doubtless, an anonymous letter some- 
thing that bore the appearance, if not the certainty, 
of truth), recognized that his correspondent was neither 
writing with a view to payment nor to terrify or cajole 
him ? And did he also, understanding all this, lock 
the secret up in his own breast, or only come near to 
revealing it by his exclamations to Sully and by his 
reluctance to quit his wife's side and go forth day by 
day, not knowing on which the blow would fall ? 

As a matter of fact, there was more than one person 
in Paris who could have revealed to the doomed man 
the certainty that he was marked for death ; yet, 
strangely enough, while one of those persons could 
have testified that a plot was laid which should engulf 
him, there were others, there was, at least, one other, 
who, working as stealthily as a mole works, was — all 
unknown to whatever conspirators might exist, and 
unknown even to himself — to mar that plot. 

203 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

It is necessary, therefore, to now proceed to examine 
who there was out of the whole population of Paris 
who knew, as after events showed, what was in hand, 
and, even if no information was given to Henri, was 
at least capable of giving it to others nearly connected 
with him. 

There was in the Capital at this time a woman about 
whom — although the facts of her existence and position 
were well known, and have been handed down to later 
times — exceedingly diverse accounts have been given. 
Her name was Jacqueline le Voyer, and she came from 
a small village named Orfin, near l^pernon, from which 
the Due took his title. She had very early in her life 
married a man who had once been a simple soldier in 
the King's Guards, but had, later, followed the more 
lucrative trade of a spy. His name was Isaac de 
Varennes, he being also le Sieur d'Escoman, or Comans. 
He and his wife lived unhappily together and soon 
separated, and Jacqueline le Voyer proceeded to Paris 
with the idea of obtaining a position of maid-of-honour, 
companion, or even lady's-maid to some woman of good 
position. Thus far all accounts agree, but from this point 
they differ widely. Those most against her state that 
she was lame and hump-backed — defects which merited 
pity ! — and also possessed a bitter tongue and an evil 
temper, while they add that she managed to exist by 

204 



The Crime 

making herself useful to many of the grandes dames 
of Paris as an intermediary betv/een them and their 
admirers. On the other hand, those who speak more 
favourably of her state that, in spite of her physical 
misfortunes, she was not of unpleasing appearance 
and, though somewhat harsh and querulous, was 
ordinarily gentle and well-behaved, and also that, 
instead of following a contemptible occupation, she 
had once been maid-of-honour to Marguerite de Valois 
— now growing old and very charitable to the poor — 
and had sought to become maid-of-honour to the 
Queen. 

No matter, however, which account is right or which 
is wrong, Jacqueline le Voyer possessed a valiant nature, 
as will be soon apparent. 

For some months before the death of Henri she had 
been spoken of as a woman who was uttering strange 
statements and spreading false, or improbable, reports 
as to attempts about to be made upon the King's life, 
while, in doing so, she had not scrupled to connect with 
these attempts the name of the Due d'Epernon — from 
whose neighbourhood, it will have been seen, she came — 
and that of Henriette d'Entragues, Marquise de Verneuil, 
with whom she was said to have lived as companion 
or maid. By some she was described as une folle ; by 
others as a woman embittered by her lack of ordinary 

205 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

good-looks and, consequently, harsh-tongued and given 

to scandal, and also as one who was enraged at not 

having been properly rewarded for her ignoble services 

to great ladies. There were stUl some others who 

spoke of her as being a cast-off mistress of d'Epernon, 

which seems to have been unlikely, considering her 

afflictions, L'Estoile, however, says nothing of the 

kind beyond hinting that she allowed herself to go too 

far and incurred a terrible retribution by doing so. 

Bassompierre passes her over in almost contempt, 

while the historians confine themselves to recording her 

story to the Council ten months after the death of Henri, 

and also her sentence. 

But the statements of ten months afterwards did not 

vary very much from what they had been before the 

murder, and both the earlier and the later ones received 

strange confirmation from what did occur beyond 

all doubt. One of her charges was that the Marquise 

de Verneuil was a leading feature in the plot against 

the King, and we have seen in the description of that 

lady that she, her father and her brother, were absolutely 

involved in a plot against him. Another was that 

d'Epernon was the second conspirator, and we have 

full proof of the fact that, from the time of Henri 

obtaining the throne, the man's existence was spent in 

plotting against him, of his being suspected of such 

206 



The Crime 

acts, and of his losing most of his great charges and 
offices, and of, indeed, his being banished to one of 
them — Loches — as a punishment. Moreover, Epernon, 
a little, insignificant town near Rambouillet, was the 
centre of his estates and the name of his duchy and 
close to the birthplace of Jacqueline le Voyer ; while, 
as she was in the habit of wandering about and, probably, 
of visiting her old home — which was, like Rambouillet, 
but a short distance from Paris — it is not unlikely that 
she may there have picked up scraps of intelligence 
which would not have reached her ears in a great 
city. 

There are, however, some still more extraordinary 
corroborations of the fact that, whatever this woman 
knew before the murder of the King, or whatever she 
told afterwards when confronted with her judges, she 
was not alone in her ideas. 

Prior to the destruction of the Bastille during the 
French Revolution — in which place were preserved not 
only its own archives but also many remarkable docu- 
ments relating to State affairs,* there was amongst them 
a paper entitled " Extrait d'un Manuscrit trouve d la mort 
de M. d' Aumale en son cabinet, signe de sa main et cachete 
de ses armes," in which this duke says of d' Epernon : 

* If anyone would know the manner in which some of those papers 
were traced and unearthed in our own days, I would refer them to the 
fascinating work of M. F. Ravaisson, entitled Archives de la Bastille. 

207 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

" He is the author of the King's death, he having raised 
up many disappointed beggars and outcasts whom he 
caused to be looked after (traiter) by many bribed 
persons ; but while pursuing their designs and ready 
to execute them, God forbade (or prevented) their 
evil intentions, and d'Epernon, seeing that the days 
selected and the occasions were discovered which thereby 
chilled these poor wretches, he caused them to be 
poisoned from fear that, struck to the heart with a 
feeling of repentance, they would become denouncers 
of the abominable enterprise ; but, nevertheless, he so 
much persisted that at last he found the wicked 
Ravaillac, who was of Angoul^me, in one of his governor- 
ships." 

Now, this document, although said to be written by 
a man of high rank and royal blood who would be 
extremely likely to learn much of all that was going on 
before the King's murder, can only be taken as one that 
justifies any suspicions which the majority of the popula- 
tion of Paris possessed, for the simple reason that, in it, 
the Due d'Aumale of those days makes a statement (if 
he wrote it) which considerable research indubitably 
proves to be wrong. The object of these pages is not 
to exonerate d'Epernon and the Marquise de Verneuil 
from being conspirators — as it is almost certain they 

were — but to show that they had no connection with 

208 



The Crime 

Ravaillac, who was meditating the deed on his own 
account alone, and alone perpetrated it, and that, conse- 
quently, he also had no connection with them. If, 
therefore, all evidence, sifted carefully and carefully 
compared, shows that this was the case, M. d'Aumale 
could not be right in his statement concerning Ravaillac. 
Such was, however, the popular opinion of the time. 
Ravaillac's name has been coupled through three 
centuries with whatever groups, aristocratic or clerical, 
were meditating the murder of the King, and nothing 
but further time and a skilful turning over of documents 
herein referred to will destroy that opinion, which, 
amongst careless students, still exists. It is pardon- 
able that it should do so, for, from the very first, the 
pamphleteers, the writers of brochures, the people who 
called themselves critics yet were but wretched hire- 
lings ready to prostitute their pens to the order of any 
person who would give them a gold crown, or to abuse 
their betters and, in fact, to criticize the man instead 
of his work — as well as the historians of later and more 
enlightened days — have all stated and promulgated the 
same opinion. Among the earliest of these broad- 
sheets was one published anonymously, and entitled 
La chemise sanglante de Henri-le-Grand, in which the 
King's ghost is made to appear before Louis XIII. 

and to say, speaking of the Dues de Bouillon and 

209 14 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

d'Epernon, " they still hold above France the dagger 
with which Ravaillac sent me to the tomb. They were 
my assassins and executioners and yet you permit them to 
be near your person." Among the latter-day historians 
was the late M. Michelet, who held firmly to the supposi- 
tion that Ravaillac was the hired tool of d'Epernon — 
Ravaillac who begged for alms at the church doors 
and had decided to leave Paris the day after the murder 
had it not occurred when it did, since he no longer had 
money for food or lodging. It is not of such material 
as this that murderers hired by wealthy conspirators 
are made ! But M. Michelet was, unhappily, a careless 
historian though a charming writer.* 

To return, however, to Jacqueline le Voyer and to 
the suggestion that Henri might well have been warned 
of his imminent danger by some person who either knew, 
or thought he knew, of what was brewing, is it not 
possible that this person was none other than she ? 
Later, when she was before her judges, steps were taken 
to silence her for ever. As, however, this matter will 
presently be dealt with, it is advisable to continue the 
attempt to discover if Henri was likely to have had 

* To those who would see the amount of errors this historian was 
capable of perpetrating, I would suggest that they should read M. 
Edmond Eire's Journal d'un Bourgeois de Paris pendant la Terreur 
(crowned by the Acadeniie Fran^aise), in which this author proves 
him inaccurate in a vast number of instances, viz., 19. 

210 



The Crime 

any direct information accorded him of what was to 
be his fate, or whether the common rumours which 
must have reached his ears — there were enough of 
them ! — were the only reasons for the certaintj^ he felt 
of his impending tragical end. The Marquise de 
Verneuil may, in his imagination, have been harmless, 
since, although he had on his marriage informed the 
Queen that she " had been " his mistress, she was in 
solemn fact still occupying that position and, except at 
the time when their various quarrels and her treachery 
took place, never ceased to do so. With regard to 
d'Epernon, Henri was well on his guard against him 
and he did his best to render the traitor harmless while, 
still, for precaution's sake, allowing him to be about his 
Court. He could not, however, have been blind to 
the numerous other persons and groups of persons to 
whom he was abhorrent and who would gladly have 
seen him dead. 

Amongst such individuals, many writers, especially 
those of the more distant past, had much justification 
in classing the Queen. No woman can ever have re- 
ceived more humiliating infidelity from her husband — 
considering that not one of Henri's amours could have 
been carried on in secrecy — than she received from hers. 
They were unending and they were not even single 

intrigues indulged in one after the other, but were often 

211 14* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

simultaneously five or six in number.* And, now, when 
he was fifty-six years of age, and when — though he, of 
course, could only fear it without knowing it — his death 
was close at hand, Henri indulged in one last folly (if 
it does not merit a more severe name) of which Marie 
de M6dici was, with the rest of France, fully cognisant. 
He suddenly became infatuated with Charlotte de 
Montmorency, a girl of sixteen and a member of one 
of the most noble families in France below royalty, 
and the wife of Henri's own second cousin, the Prince 
de Conde. On her part, the young lady appeared 
nothing loth to receive his attentions, but, at the same 
time, she did not forget the blood that ran in her veins 
and all that was due to it. Consequently, she was re- 
solved that, if she was to smirch the ancient names of 
her own and her husband's house, she would at least 
become the bearer of a greater one and the possessor 
of a rank which, in France, could have no equal. She, 
therefore, informed her royal admirer that, until he 
could procure a divorce from Marie and also bring about 
one between herself and Conde, she would neither listen 
to him nor see him, and that, even then, she could be 



* In justice to Henri it should be said that he offered to send 
these women away from him if Marie would do the same with Concini 
and his wife, and also with the miserable woman who was called 
"La mere Dasithee," and frequently prophesied Henri's death. Marie 
refused to do either. 

212 



The Crime 

nothing more to him than a cousin by marriage until 
she became Queen of France. 

Over Henri II. de Bourbon, Prince de Conde, and, 
afterwards, father of the Great Conde, more than one 
dark shadow had lowered from the time of his birth. 
His mother, Charlotte, a daughter of the great house of 
De La Tremouille, had, to put the lightest construc- 
tion on her conduct, been far from circumspect and from 
comporting herself in a manner suitable to a descendant 
of her race or the wife of a Bourbon. A handsome 
young page in her service named Belcastel was supposed 
to have obtained more favours from her than any 
woman, married or single, should have consented to 
bestow, and the whole of Paris was agog with gossip 
on this subject when an even more terrible suspicion 
concerning her arose in the minds of all. 

The then Prince de Conde, husband of the Princess, 
had, after indulging in violent exercise in tilting at 
the ring, supped and retired to bed. In the middle 
of the night he was awakened by feeling ill, became 
very sick, and remained in bed for twenty-foui 
hours ; he then took supper and slept well and, on 
the second day, rose, dined in his bedroom and played 
at chess with one of his friends. After this he walked 
about the room while talking to one and another of 

those who had come to obtain news of his health, when, 

213 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

suddenly, he exclaimed, " Bring me a chair ! I am 
very weak." The chair was brought, he sank into it 
and, a little while afterwards, died without uttering 
another word. 

This is the testimony of no less a personage than 
Henri IV. himself, who, having gleaned the most reliable 
news on the matter, instantly sat down and wrote it 
to his flame of the moment, Diane, Comtesse de Guiche, 
better known to posterity by the sobriquet he conferred 
on her of "La Belle Corisande." The letter is at the 
present time in the Bibliotheque Nationale, and it con- 
cludes with the words, " The marks of poison soon 
appeared " (" sortirent soudain "). 

Suspicion at once fastened on Belcastel and a valet 
named Corbais and was strengthened by the disappear- 
ance of both, who were, however, quickly discovered to 
have fled on horses supplied to them by the controller 
of the household of the Prince. Corbais, being put to 
the torture, stated that it was the Princess who had 
poisoned her husband, and, the recollection of her 
intimacy with Belcastel being fresh in the minds of all, 
the statement was generally believed. Henri — himself 
the best authority of all for us in this matter, by aid 
of his letters to Corisande — believed it also, and, in his 
second letter, concludes with the almost indisputable 

piece of philosophy that, " the most dangerous wild- 

214 



The Crime 

beast is a wicked woman." It may be said that his own 
experience had probably taught him so much as this 
long before the present affair arose ! The page was 
executed and the Princess was confined for seven years 
under very strict watch and ward, during which time 
Henri, third Prince de Conde, was born, six months after 
his father's sudden death. Some considerable doubt 
has, however, always existed as to whether either the 
page or the Princess was guilty of murder, or whether 
the second Prince de Conde was murdered at all. The 
Princess may, undoubtedly, have instigated or per- 
formed the deed with a view to saving herself from her 
husband's vengeance in a certain future case, but, on 
the other hand, he was a man detested by The Leaguers, 
who, like others in such times, did not hesitate at 
much ; and, also, he had long been in a serious state 
of health, while the physicians were by no means in agree- 
ment over the fact of poison having been administered. 
The child's and, afterwards, the young man's, 
existence was, however, much darkened by his father's 
mysterious death and his mother's undoubted lightness 
— if her behaviour was no worse than that ! He stood 
near the throne — should Henri de Navarre finally secure 
it* — provided that his birth could not be impugned, 

* He was born September ist, 1588, a year before Henri became 
absolute King of France. 

215 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

and, as time went on ; and before Henri was married to 
Marie de Medici, he appeared well-inclined to recognize 
the young Prince as the future King of France in succes- 
sion to himself. In doing so later, the King, by ac- 
knowledging the son's position, removed the stigma that 
rested on the mother, and he yielded to a petition (as 
well as to his own good nature), signed by the noblest- 
born women and men of France. Consequently, Char- 
lotte, Princesse de Conde, stood forth a woman free 
of any stain on her character, and her son as the recog- 
nized heir to the throne short of Henri divorcing 
Marguerite and marrying a wife who could pre- 
sent him with a son, or of his legitimatizing the 
eldest of those sons with whom Gabrielle had already 
presented him. 

It was unfortunate for the young Prince, that as he 
reached manhood, he frequently ran counter to the 
wishes of his illustrious relative, though, in doing so, he 
was unfortunate through no fault of his own. He was 
awkward; nervous and not particularly good-looking, 
but he was brave and soldierly — which excused every- 
thing in Henri's eyes. He challenged the Due de Nevers 
for having let fall some words reflecting on his mother 
' — ^words that the Duke never intended should reach his 
ears ; and he was bold enough to tell Henri (who was 
pressing Charlotte de Montmorency so strongly that he 

2j6 



The Crime 

ordered Conde not to quit Paris with her) that he was 
practising tyranny. It is possible that, at first, Henri 
was tempted to slay the young man for his temerity, but, 
controlling himself (if such were the case), he refrained 
from doing so. He inflicted on him, however, as deep 
a wound with his tongue as he could have done with 
his sword by remarking that he had never performed 
but one act of tyranny in his life, namely, when he had 
caused the Prince to be acknowledged and recognized 
as that which he was not. He then ordered him to quit 
his presence. Nevertheless, the victory was, surely, on 
the side of Conde,* 

As Mademoiselle de Montmorency, the Princess had 
been brought to Court by her aunt and, amongst all 
who had admired her for her youth, freshness and 
beauty, none had done so more than Henri, who, how- 
ever, did not at first testify any greater desire for her 
society than that shown by the expression of a wish 
that, as he grew older, she might always be near to cheer 
and amuse him. At the same time, the brilliant, good- 
looking and clever Bassompierre seemed to have won 
her affections, and Henri gave his consent to their 
marriage while conferring on the intended bridegroom 
the office of first gentleman of the bedchamber. This, 

* D'Aubigne. L'Estoile. Bassompierre.- Les Princes de Condi, 
par M, le Due d'Aumale, Paris, i864» 

217 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

however, did not agree at all with the ideas of jthe Due 
de Bouillon, who was the titular holder of this office 
and also the uncle of Mademoiselle de Montmorency, 
whereupon he remarked that Bassompierre should have 
neither his niece nor his position. Being a resolute, as 
well as a very astute, man, he conceived the idea of 
suggesting to the King that the most suitable husband 
for that niece would be the Prince de Conde, their 
families being closely united by friendship while the 
bride and bridegroom would be of a suitable age for 
marriage. There was, he also stated, but one other 
lady fitted by her rank to become the wife of the Prince, 
and that was the daughter of the Due de Mayenne, 
Henri's old and bitter enemy. Henri fell in with de 
Bouillon's scheme, which was proposed by that noble- 
man more to gratify his own dislike of Bassompierre, 
by robbing him of his bride, than to study the interest 
of the King, Conde or the Montmorencys, and the matter 
was at once considered and arranged. The only persons 
who were not consulted were Mademoiselle de Mont- 
morency and Bassompierre — who might have been 
considered as the most interested ones — so that, when 
the latter went to see Henri, who was laid up with one 
of his periodical attacks of gout, and learnt that his 
Majesty now desired him to become the husband of 
Mademoiselle d'Aumale it is not surprising that he ex- 

3i8 




FRAKCISCV> DE 



LI MUM P^.^^pj^FRCTVS 



BassompieRRE. 



rFaciM? P- 2iS 



The Crime 

claimed, " What ! Am I to marry two women ? " His 

Majesty was, however, in spite of his easy nature, in the 

habit of being very explicit in concerns that moved him 

deeply, and he at once informed Bassompierre that 

he had not only fallen in love with Mademoiselle de 

Montmorency, but had done so madly. " Therefore," 

he said, " if you marry her and she loves you, I shall 

hate you, and if she learns to love me you will hate 

me." After which Henri added — en ami, to use his 

own words — that he was rapidly approaching old age, 

that he only desired that Mademoiselle de Montmorency 

should be a consolation and an amusing companion to 

him and be able to show him some little affection, 

to obtain all of which he had resolved to marry her to 

his young cousin — a line of argument which may appear 

sufficiently remarkable to latter-day readers. In any 

case, Bassompierre accepted the situation and probably 

reconciled himself easily enough to it, since his own 

affections were generally engaged two or three deep. 

This was, as has been said, Henri's last infatuation, 

but, true to his old character, he, in spite of having 

recently spoken of himself as a " grey-bearded but 

victorious King," was still disposed to indulge it in 

the usual romantic fashion. One day when the Prince 

de Conde was hunting in Picardy while the Princess, 

as Mademoiselle had now become, was about to follow 

219 



Fate of Henry of Navarre 

in a light coach with the Dowager Princess, they ob- 
served a falconer with a hawk on his wrist loitering in 
the courtj^ard. Orders were given for the carriage to 
set out instantly, but, on the return, a new transforma- 
tion had taken place, since the King, who had at first 
become a falconer, had now transformed himself into a 
huntsman who led a dog in a leash. It is not wonderful 
that, after all these untiring attentions to his wife, 
Conde thought it wise to put the frontier between himself 
and his wife and his august cousin. 

The infatuated lover was, however, not to be 
thwarted, and he at once set about taking steps to 
discover whether the Princess's somewhat startling 
demands for the double divorce could in any way be 
complied with, and, in the interval, Charlotte had 
departed with her husband to Brussels, then, as long 
afterwards, a Spanish possession. Meanwhile, as the 
whole story leaked out, Henri became the butt of 
Europe, one wit remarking that if Spain could not 
vanquish the King of France by force of arms 
it could at least do so by turning him into an 
object of ridicule. And, amongst those who knew 
all that was going on, and who inevitably heard all 
the gibes and jeers on the subject, was Marie de 
Medici ! 

Madness, indeed, seemed to have seized on the un- 

220 



The Crime 

fortunate monarch at this time. His first act was to 
call together his Ministers and discuss with them an 
outbreak of war with Spain, which, if it was not solely- 
entered into on account of the Princesse de Conde, was 
shortly to occur. Previously to this he had summoned 
the Marquis de Coeuvres, brother of his late love, 
Gabrielle d'Estrees, to proceed to Brussels and carry off 
the object of his last infatuation and bring her back to 
Paris. His next impulse was to commit an act of im- 
prudence which, if ordinary propriety and good-breeding 
could not prevent him from perpetrating, good sense 
should have done. Believing that de Coeuvres had 
succeeded in the task upon which he had been sent, 
he suddenly exclaimed to his wife, " On such a day 
and such an hour you will see the Princesse de 
Conde back here again." Verily, Marie de Medici — 
the " vindictive Florentine," " the daughter of a race 
of poisoners," was subjected to almost enough slights 
to justify her in following in the footsteps of her 
forerunners. 

Henri had not, however, finished with his attempts 
to get the girl young enough to be his grand-daughter 
into his hands. He ordered his nephew to return to 
France — with his wife — under the pain of being declared 
a traitor ; and he caused the Constable de Montmorency 
to order his daughter to do so. But Conde simply 

221 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

removed himself and his wife to Italy, and Spain refused 
to allow those who governed Brussels on her behalf 
to make any move in the matter. Henri then declared 
war on Spain, two of his armies set out for the frontier 
and he himself made ready to follow them later and 
take command — when the fatal blow fell. 

Meanwhile, Marie de Medici was deeply wounded by 
not only his last infidelity to her, but also by the fact 
that, though she alone could be constituted Regent 
during his absence, he gave her as companions a council 
of fifteen colleagues, each of whom would have as power- 
ful voices in any of the deliberations as she would 
herself. 

Now, therefore, she recognized that she was in a 
terrible position and that, when Henri should return 
from the campaign, she would in all probability find 
herself in a worse one. She was perfectly cognisant 
of the passion that was swaying her husband at the 
moment, and she knew that, if he was resolved to divorce 
her and disgrace himself in the eyes of the world, there 
was nothing that could prevent him from doing so. 
He was by far the most powerful King in Europe, 
Philip HI. of Spain being but a cipher in comparison 
with the late Philip H. ; while as for the Pope, who 
alone had the authority to prevent the divorce and 
the marriage that would be subsequent to it, he would 

222 



The Crime 

be afraid to offend the King of France since he could 
play havoc with all the countries that supported his 
Holiness. 

It was not, indeed, possible that the first of these 
could oppose him, or that the second would wish to do 
so. Philip II., in spite of all the wealth that Mexico 
and Peru had continued to pour into the coffers of 
Spain since the days of Ferdinand and Isabella, left an 
inheritance worse than even a barren one to Philip III. 
The enormous armies of the former, the stupendous 
sums of money paid out as bribes — principally to exter- 
minate the Protestants — and the colossal expenses of 
the Armada (four million ducats), had plunged the 
country into an abyss of debt from which it seemed 
impossible that it could ever escape. At the death of 
Philip 11. his successor discovered that the treasury was 
empty and that there was owing, in various shapes and 
forms, a sum of twelve hundred and fifty odd millions 
of livres, the livre of that day being worth a little more 
than the French franc of the present time. But the 
franc of the present time will only buy a fifth part of 
what the livre of Henri's day would purchase, and, 
consequently, the debt was equal to two hundred and 
fifty million pounds or more of our own money of 
to-day. 

As for the Pope, he hoped that Henri would soon 

223 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

carry into practice a scheme long since propounded by 
Sully, and obtain the annexation of the Kingdom of 
Naples to his own dominions. From him, therefore, no 
opposition of any kind would be likely to come. But 
if it should come from either Spain — which Henri now 
proposed to attack — or from the Emperor of Germany, 
who had not a single ally but many enemies, all of 
whom were thirsting for his death, which was imminent, 
and had already arranged between themselves that 
the Duke of Bavaria was to take his throne, that oppo- 
sition would be in vain. Henri had, at this time, 
thirteen different armies ready to take the field ; Sully, 
as Master-General of the Artillery, had caused two 
hundred new and great cannon to be added to the 
equipment of those armies, and there was a sum of 
money put aside by him, in his other capacity of Minister 
of Finances, which amounted to a hundred and fifty 
millions of livres.* 

That Marie should ask her husband what his inten- 
tions towards her would be when he returned from the 
war, was, therefore, not strange ; while, also, it was only 
reasonable on her part to press firmly her determination 
to be crowned. As we know, she succeeded in this, 
and therein lay her salvation from divorce if Henri 
should return safe, since a crowned Queen was far more 

* Sismondi. Poirson, . 
224 



The Crime 

securely seated on the throne than an uncrowned one 
could ever be. And, though she was not aware of it, 
the act was also her salvation for many years after 
Henri was dead. For d'Epernon would never have lent 
her his aid had she not been crowned. It was not to 
his interests to espouse the cause of any person when 
that cause was not as secure as it could be before he 
undertook to champion it. 

Now no charge against Marie de Medici has ever 
been urged so strongly as proof of her connivance in a 
plot, or the plot — since it undoubtedly existed — as was 
this determination on her part to be made safe in every 
way possible. As has been shown, however, nothing 
tends more to prove her innocence of any such partici- 
pation. For, once crowned, she was secure without 
the aid of any plot to remove Henri ; safe while he 
lived and safe when he was dead. It is true, however, 
that Marie was far from feeling sure of this safety even 
during her husband's life. Once, on the occasion of one 
of their many quarrels, Henri threatened to exile her 
to some distant chateau, and, even though she might 
have forgotten this sinister suggestion, there were those 
about the Court who were not disposed to let the recol- 
lection of it fade from her memory. Leonora Galigai 
never ceased to remind her of it, while, if she forgot to 
do so, Concini, in his turn, spurred her on to the work. 

225 15 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Gradually the unhappy Queen became a prey to fears 
which — since she was never strong-minded and, indeed, 
possessed only one form of strength, namely, that of 
dogged and morose obstinacy — might well have driven 
her distracted. Marie knew well that the Princesse de 
Conde was too much suffused with her pride of race to 
ever yield to Henri on any terms short of occupying the 
place that she herself possessed, and she also saw plainly 
that, in a case such as this, nothing could turn Henri 
from his desires. She, therefore, became the victim of 
terrible surmises. She believed that she was about to 
be poisoned, while forgetting that all the poisoners in 
Paris were of her country and not of her husband's ; 
and whenever Henri sent her dishes from the table at 
which he sat — it being the custom on ordinary occasions 
for the King to take the head of one table and the 
Queen of another — she refused them firmly and ate 
only of those which Leonora Galigai had prepared 
for her at, of course, her own suggestion, or from 
dishes which the other had previously tasted ostenta- 
tiously. 

Marie de Medici should have possessed more wisdom, 
more power of reflection. If poisoning was to be 
practised, the Italian woman was far more capable of 
the deed than her own husband and, had it been to 

Leonora Galigai's interest to poison the Queen — which 

226 



The Crime 

it was not — she would doubtless have done so unhesi- 
tatingly. While, as regards Henri, she should have 
known him better. With the exception of his one 
terrible failing, his good qualities far outstripped his 
bad. He was a brave man, and brave men, even when 
{ they sink to crimes, do not sink to ignoble and cowardly 
ones. Henri might, in his frenzy for Charlotte de 
Conde, have sent Marie into exile, as their son did 
afterwards ; he might have forced the Pope into grant- 
ing him a divorce from her ; but he would no more have 
poisoned her than he would have beaten a defenceless 
woman or struck a cripple. 

It is now necessary to separate from each other the 

plot which was undoubtedly on foot to slay Henri and 

the determination of a religious fanatic and visionary 

who felt that it was his duty to assassinate the King 

and was determined that, in doing so, he would be 

entirely without assistance, allies or employers. And, 

indeed, it may be said of Ravaillac with justice that, 

had not his madness led him to commit the dreadful 

deed he enacted, there was something in him which, in 

less erring men, would have been termed greatness. His 

religion was so much to him that it had driven him 

mad ; yet, withal, he was strong, he was truthful and 

he was independent. He would ask alms, but would 

227 15* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

not receive pay as a hired assassin ; he would steal the 
knife with which he slew the King, yet he had deter- 
mined to leave Paris because he could no longer pay 
the woman of the house wherein he found a wretched 
lodging ; and, above all, he made more than one attempt 
to see Henri and implore him not to attack the Pope — 
which, as has been shown, Henri had never the least 
intention of doing — ere he resorted to murder. Un- 
fortunately, he was driven from the door of the Louvre 
and, when he endeavoured to make the King listen to 
him as he went by in the street, no heed was paid to 
him. After that it was but a question of days ere 
the King was slain. 

Frangois Ravaillac was born of very humble parents ' 
at Angoulgme, in the year 1578, and was, consequently, 
only thirty-two when he assassinated Henri IV. It 
has been said that his mental faculties were very weak, 
and, whether this were so or not, there was a strain in 
his blood which tended towards murder, he being con- 
nected with Poltrot, who assassinated Fran9ois, Due 
de Guise, at the Siege of Orleans. As a child, he 
appears to have had a mawkish, and — for one so 
young — sickly inclination towards religious cere- 
monials, and was more often to be found in 
church than attending to any duties that his parents 
might require him to perform. His tendencies were 

228 




Ravaillac. 



The Crime 

entirely towards the priesthood, but the resources 
of those parents, who lived almost wholly by the 
alms of neighbours better endowed with the world's 
goods than they, necessitated his doing something to 
aid in their support, and he became for a time a valet 
de chambre. Later, he emancipated himself from this 
servile state of existence which was not at all in accord 
with his desires, and he managed to set up as a petty 
provincial solicitor and a conductor of small cases in 
local courts, a calling which is termed in France that 
of solliciteur de proces. His earnings in this manner 
were, however, so meagre that he supplemented 
them by teaching the children of his own class 
of life how to read and write, but even with this 
addition to his means he was scarcely able to procure 
bread. 

At this time he was thrown into prison by some 
creditors, and during this period his mind became more 
impregnated with fanaticism than it had hitherto been. 
On attaining his release he became a novice of the order 
of Les Feuillants, but his extraordinary hallucinations, 
his visions and imaginary conversations with the Virgin 
and other sacred personages, and the general eccentricity 
of his behaviour, caused his probation to be cut short by 
summary dismissal from the monastery. Nothing dis- 
heartened, he next attempted to become a member of 

229 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

the Society of Jesus, but was again rejected and was 

forced to fall back upon his original callings of solicitor 

and schoolmaster to procure a livelihood, which, if 

obtained at all, was but of a very sparse and miserable 

nature. In spite, however, of the disordered state of 

the man's intellect, his course of life seems to have been 

of an utterly irreproachable nature ; he lived honestly 

and was a good son to his mother, who worshipped him. 

A false charge was, nevertheless, brought against him 

of having been concerned in a murder that took place 

at this time and, though he was instantly acquitted of 

any share in it and discharged with honour, he was 

at once thrown back into prison on account of the 

debts which he had accumulated in providing for his 

defence. 

In this place his warped mind seems to have asserted 

itself in a manner which clearly pointed to the fact 

that, good as his natural qualities might be, there were 

within him some strange chords, or idiosyncrasies, which 

would eventually go far to pervert, if not to destroy, 

all his better faculties and impulses. He commenced, 

in his ceU, to exhibit poetical leanings — a tendency in 

others that, then as now, has often furnished matter 

for the derision and scorn of feeble wits — and wrote 

madrigals and sonnets, but, more often, pious effusions, 

all of which were pronounced by those of his own 

230 



The Crime 

time to have been wretched doggerel.* What, however, 
was worse than his verses was a recurrence, in a more 
pronounced form, of the visions he had previously ex- 
perienced, and from these he was led to think deeply 
upon subjects which, on behalf of himself and humanity, 
it would have been far better for him to have never 
considered. Soon his thoughts and studies and rhap- 
sodies in prison brought him to such a state of ecstasy 
that he formed the opinion that he was born to become 
a great man, and, from this, to the belief that Heaven 
had sent him into the world to enact the part of the 
Pope's principal champion and protector. From these 
opinions and self-gratulations there was but one 
step more, namely, to imagine that it would be his duty 
to slay any man who should endeavour to outrage or 
attack his Holiness. 

Ravaillac made these views more or less public to 
the priests and to whatever friends he possessed when 
he was discharged from prison, and, though most of his 
hearers regarded him as either a madman or a fool, 
his extraordinary statements about himself caused con- 
siderable remark. 

* One distich of his composing was : 

" Ne souffre pas qu'on fasse, en Ta presence, 
Au nom de Dieu aucune irreverence." 
In spite of the confusion of referring to the presence of the Deity 
while caUing upon His name, it was not Ravaillac's worst poetical 
attempt. 

231 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

It is with this fact before us that we at once find our- 
selves nearing the primal cause of the erroneous asso- 
ciation, during a long space of time, of Ravaillac's deed 
with the plot of the Due d'Epernon. It wiU be recalled 
that, among the many high offices to which this per- 
sonage had attained during his long and despicable 
career under Henri III. and Henri IV., one was that 
of Governor of Angoumois, of which Angouleme was 
then the capital town, as it is now of the Department 
of Charente. It will, therefore, astonish no one that, 
between the half-witted fanatic who was afterwards 
to assassinate Henri and the truculent autocrat who 
was known to be Henri's most bitter enemy as well as 
the chief plotter against his life, a connection of tool 
and employer should have been at once imagined. The 
supposition was, however, an erroneous one, as will 
be shown later, and, indeed, proved, by demonstrating 
that at the moment Ravaillac accomplished his evil 
deed, no one was more astonished at discovering who 
the man was who had performed it, and no one more 
prompt to avail himself of the opportunity that had 
arisen of cloaking his own well-arranged but now antici- 
pated intentions, than d'Epernon. But, independently 
of this, it is doubtful if d'Epernon had ever heard of 
Ravaillac, and almost certain that Ravaillac had hardly 
ever seen him, though, in his interrogatories after the 

232 



The Crime 

crime, he said vaguely that he knew of him. That he 
could truthfully declare this — and, with all his sin 
and madness, Ravaillac was no liar — is not at all to be 
wondered at. The governor of the province, the man 
who had resided in the great house, the Citadel, of 
Angouleme — though he did not often trouble it with 
his presence — would be as much " known of " there as 
the most important personage of any small town in 
England, the bishop of any city, or the Member of Par- 
liament, is " known of " by the more humble inhabitants 
of the place. But between " knowing of " such person- 
ages and " knowing them " there is a wide difference. 

Moreover, what possible need would there be for 
d'Epernon to associate himself with such a poor, 
demented creature as Ravaillac ; while, if there were 
any such need, is it at all likely that he would have 
selected a man dwelling in one of the places where he 
himself ruled paramount and where, if he should eventu- 
ally become seriously implicated in the murder of the 
King, the most damning of evidence would be forth- 
coming ? But, in truth, there was no such need. 
Behind d'Epernon there rode eight hundred spears, 
most of them bravoes like himself; any one of whom 
would have been willing to perform his behests, and 
since he would be well paid to hold his tongue, would 
do so and remain silent as the grave. 

233 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

While acknowledging, therefore, that the coincidence 
of Ravaillac being a poor, inferior inhabitant of the 
town over which d'Epernon ruled en grand seigneur 
was well calculated to set on foot the story that the 
former was the paid mercenary of the latter, it may be 
dismissed as nothing more than a coincidence. Also, 
if further proof were required that such was the case, 
it exists in the fact of Ravaillac's continual poverty and 
in the certainty that, had he been in d'Epernon's pay, 
he would have been well supplied with money. 

At the time when his remarkable statements on the 
subject of his recognizing that he was ordained to pro- 
tect the Pope and kill those who were opposed to his 
Holiness were made, Ravaillac was still far from having 
formed any resolutions to slay Henri, and had, indeed, 
no murderous inclinations in his heart towards any 
particular person. Insanity had, however, touched 
him in a mild form, and vanity — so often a forerunner, 
or companion, of insanity — was strongly developed 
in him. He believed that, if he could but obtain the 
ear of the King, he might so work upon him by his 
prayers and beseechings that he would be able to induce 
him to alter all his views of attacking the Pope. Fate 
was, however, unpropitious in connection with both 
the King and his future assassin. Had Ravaillac 
known that which many people more highly placed than 

234 



The Crime 

he could have told him, namely, that Henri was a strong 
protector of the Catholics, and especially of the Jesuits, 
he would in all probability have considered that no 
more than this could be expected of the King, and would 
have recognized that his other desire, that the Huguenots 
should be strongly oppressed, might be dispensed with. 
Or, had those who prevented Ravaillac from seeing the 
King, those who repulsed him at the door of the Louvre, 
allowed him to speak with Henri, he would probably 
have received only the kindly answers which the latter 
was in the habit of bestowing upon every suppliant. 
Henri might even have told him that his true policy 
was to support the Pope (though it is not likely that 
he would have also informed him that one of his prin- 
cipal reasons for doing so was his infatuation for the 
Piincesse de Conde), and Ravaillac would doubtless 
have turned away while understanding that the mission 
which he imagined himself called upon by God to fulfil 
had no longer any existence. 

But such was not the case. Three times had he 
struggled on foot through the spring rains and mire 
from Angouleme to Paris, and twice had he returned 
to the former ; and on each of the latter occasions he 
had gone back disheartened. The Marquis de la Force, 
who had command of all the guards around the King 
and at the Louvre, had ordered him to be repulsed, and 

235 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Ravaillac recognized at last that his hope of appealing to 
the King was vain. Yet, had Ravaillac but been aware 
that when the Marquis had asked Henri if he should 
not imprison the wretched scarecrow who was so im- 
portunate, the latter had replied, " No ! no ! it is no 
harm that he does in wishing to see me. Be not severe 
with him," how different might all have been, how 
altered the history of France ! 

At last the miserable creature grew desperate. He 
besought every person of any importance whom he 
encountered to obtain him access to the King, only to 
be driven away or treated as an imbecile. But still he 
persevered. Knowing that Henri would on one day pass 
by " Les Innocents" — and the open cemetery — he 
awaited his carriage and cried out loudly when it ap- 
peared : "In the name of Our Lord and the Sacred 
Virgin let me speak with you ! " But again he was 
repulsed, and driven o££ with jeers and buffets by the 
people. Then definitely, finally, he understood that one 
part, the best part of his determination, namely, to ad- 
dress the King as a subject addressing a ruler, could 
never be realized. Nothing remained but to perform 
the second part, the worst part, of that determination. 
To slay the man who was, he wrongly supposed, 
bitterly hostile to all that was sacred to him. 

He was, however, at his last resources now. The 

236 



The Crime 

alms he begged scarcely provided enough to keep a rat 
in food ; he had no money sufficient for a bed and 
again slept in the streets or under church porches. There 
was but one thing left to do : to return to Angouleme, 
to resume his occupation of teaching the children of the 
poor who would confide them to his care, and, in some 
way to scrape together enough money to enable him to 
live until he should once more be able to revisit Paris 
— for the last time. After that, he would require nothing 
more ! 

Whether he saved much or little — it must have been 
the latter — he appeared again in the Capital, and his 
first act was to steal the knife with which he was eventu- 
ally to murder the King. But now his visions once more 
took hold upon him, though at this time they assumed 
a different form. Doubts arose, visited his mind, 
during these visions as to whether he was justified in 
slaying even a bad King, a monster such as he deemed 
Henri to be ; and whether also a better king — or better 
counsellors of the boy, Louis — would succeed to Henri. 
Oppressed by these doubts, he once more quitted Paris, 
and so resolved was he now to make no farther attempt 
to slay Henri that, in a fit of frenzy, he struck his knife 
against a garden-wall near Etampes and broke off a 
couple of inches of the point. A little later he passed a 
cross on which was the Sacred Figure, and his doubts 

237 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

vanished, his original intentions returned to him. The 
impressions which his view of the Saviour on His Cross 
and in His Passion occasioned were confirmed by the 
news which reached his ears in the ancient city. This 
news — utterly false and having no more foundation than 
the babble of a number of provincial bourgeois — was 
to the effect that Henri was about to make war on the 
Pope and transfer the Holy See to Paris. 

Ravaillac instantly sharpened his broken knife on a 
stone, and, retracing his steps, arrived in the Capital for 
the last time. 

Meanwhile, all was prepared for the departure of 
Henri to take command of one of his armies which was 
about to attack the Spanish forces, or rather those of 
the House of Austria, which was practically the same 
thing, since Spain and Austria were never disunited 
until the first Bourbon king ascended the throne of 
Spain on the death of Carlos II. of that country. The 
attack was to be a strong one, since, of the thirteen 
armies, some were opposed to the Spaniards in Holland, 
some in Italy, some in Germany and some in Spain, 
while it is interesting to us, if not to those of other 
lands, to note that the commanders of these armies 
were nearly all to be Protestants. Among them were 
Sully and his son, the Marquis de Rosny, and also his 
son-in-law, the Due de Rohan, as well as La Force 

238 



The Crime 

and Lesdigui^res, Prince Maurice of Nassau, several 
German Protestant princes, the Kings of Sweden 
and Denmark, and last, but not least. Prince Henry 
Frederick, son of King James I. of England and Prince 
of Wales. 

Yet, as the time for action approached, there seemed 
to creep over Henri a strange lassitude such as probably 
he had never experienced before. He, to whom war 
had been as much his sport in active life as, in his hours 
of ease, love had been, seemed to have grown suddenly 
dejected, and, indeed, domesticated, since he stayed 
much at home ; his briskness and alacrity, " the fierce 
joy that warriors feel," seemed to have left him. This 
depression may have arisen from the fact that he knew 
how, as the days went on, his life was more and more 
aimed at by plotters and assassins ; yet, even though 
such were the case, it is strange that at this period 
such reflections should have troubled him. He was to set 
out upon a great campaign, and, though a noble death 
upon the field might be his lot, a death that he had faced 
a hundred times, it would at least be the portion of a 
soldier and far better than the stab from an assassin 
lurking in some dark alley or a shot fired from an ambush 
by a hired bravo. 

The believers in presentiment may well find a justifi- 

239 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Cation for their faith in remembering the King's feelings 
and apprehensions during the time closely preceding 
his death. It was observed by all — and Richelieu noted 
the fact with his usual astuteness — that he drew nearer 
to his wife to the exclusion of all thought of those, and 
especially of the one, who had come so much between 
them ; that he could not bear to be without her com- 
pany or to let her leave him alone even for a day. 
Moreover, he took pains to instruct her in all that it 
would be necessary for her to do in case he should die 
suddenly ; he told her where his most important papers 
were to be found, what her actions should be to ensure 
her proclamation as Regent, and how she might best 
safeguard the rights and succession of the Dauphin. 
At the same time, if they were separated for even the 
shortest period he wrote letters to her that he should 
have thought of inditing long before ; letters containing 
phrases suitable for address to the woman who, with 
all her failings, had been an honest wife to him, but 
utterly unsuitable to the meretricious creatures to whom 
such epistles had only too often been despatched. " My 
heart, I kiss you a hundred thousand times " ; " Ma 
mie, I send you good night and a thousand kisses " ; 
" I love you always, I cannot sleep until I have written 
to you," are but a few specimens of his letters at this 

time. ! si sic omnia 1 

240 



The Crime 

It has been said by many that this sudden love for 
his wife, and these demonstrations, were principally 
owing to the fact that he sought refuge in her society 
from the disappointment he felt at the fact that the 
last woman to whom he was attracted, Charlotte de 
Montmorency, would not listen to him any longer and 
had fled with her husband out of France to avoid his 
attentions. His behaviour does not, however, justify 
the gibe, though his admiration for the young princess 
of sixteen is undoubted. That Marie was impressed by 
his sincerity is also a proof that he was a changed man, 
since she herself began to be nervous and alarmed at the 
alteration in him. One night she roused him by scream- 
ing that she had had a dream that he was being 
murdered, but he calmed her by saying that there never 
was a dream which, if it had any result at all, did not 
have a contrary one to that which it foretold. 

It is doubtful, however, if he believed his own words. 
After the various attempts made on his life he was in the 
habit of remarking that one must at last succeed ; that 
he was doomed ; that he was certain to die a violent 
death. He frequently stated that both the Catholics 
and the Protestants hated him, the first because his 
conversion was an assumed one, and the second because 
he was an apostate ; while, when he felt sure that his 
time was drawing near, it was his habit to converse 

241 16 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

freely with Sully on the matter, and, on one occasion, 
he asked the latter if he could have a bed at the Arsenal 
(Sully's official residence) for the last nights before 
he set out on the Spanish-Austrian campaign. The 
great Minister has put it on record that the King would 
sit in a low chair before him tapping his fingers on his 
spectacle-case, and that, after some time spent in this 
way, he would slap his knees with his hands, spring up 
suddenly from the chair and cry, " Pardieu ! I shall 
die in this city, I shall never leave it. They will kill 
me ! " After which he would become more calm, would 
be seated again and finally console himself by remark- 
ing that what God had decided on was inevitable and 
that a man must cheerfully bow to his destiny without 
attempting to oppose it. 

On the morning of his assassination the presentiment 
that he was to die was strong upon him. He desired 
particularly to see Sully, who was iU, yet he could not 
determine to leave the Louvre ; he hesitated much, 
said he must go, and then did not do so. He embraced 
the Queen so often while bidding her adieu for the time 
and so often came back again after he had parted from 
her, that, at last, she herself became terribly agitated. 
" You must not go," she cried, and, flinging herself 
on her knees, implored him to stay at home while saying 

that he could see Sully on the morrow. His answer 

242 




Voilure dans laquello fiit assassine Henri IV en IGIO. 




Carrosse de 1GI0 a 1660 



One of the pillars of the first illustration has been forgotten by the artist. 
There were eight. 



IFacing p. 243 



The Crime 

was : " I must go ; I must. It is not possible for me to 
stay here. I have much to tell Sully ; much that 
weighs upon my heart." 

The carriage in which Henri set out for the Arsenal 
was an open one, with its floor so near the ground that 
a moderately stout man could scarcely have crawled 
beneath it. Above it, supported by eight slim pillars, 
was a kind of roof or canopy which more resembled 
the top of an open tent, or summer-house, than aught 
else, while what curtains it possessed were thrown out- 
side the carriage and almost brushed the earth as it 
proceeded on its way. Into this Henri entered, placing 
the Due d'Epernon on his left hand. In front of him 
by the doors were the Due de Montbazon and the Comte 
de Roquelaure ; next came the Marquis de la Force, 
with, on the other side, the Marechal de Lavardin 
and M. de Liancourt ; the Marquis de Mirebeau* and 
the principal squire (in modern language, an attache) 
of the King completed the company which filled the 
large and roomy vehicle. On entering it Henri flung his 
arm over the shoulder of the Due de Montbazon (some 
authorities say over the shoulder of d'Epernon), and 
thus they progressed until " La Croix du Tiroir " was 
reached, when he was asked to what spot he intended 

* According to contemporary writers. Modern ones often spell it 
Mirabeau. But the title of the family of Mirabeau, the revolutionist, 
was Marquis de Riqueti or Riquetti^ 

243 16* 



I'he Fate of Henry of Navarre 

to proceed — a question which, one would imagine, 
would be more likely to be asked before the departure 
from the Louvre took place. His reply was that they 
should pass by the church and cemetery of " Les Inno- 
cents " on the way to the Arsenal, as the more direct 
road was at the time under repair. Continuing this 
route, the carriage arrived at the end of the Rue St. 
Honore and turned into that of La Ferronnerie, when an 
interruption occurred. A wain loaded with straw had 
either broken down or one of the horses had stumbled 
in front of a drinking-shop known as the " Salamander," 
and, at the same time, one of the two attendants who 
alone walked beside the coach had dropped behind to 
tie his garter, which had become undone. Meanwhile, 
the Due d'Epemon had drawn from his pocket a letter 
from the Comte de Soissons which he handed to Henri 
to read, when, as the King did so, the coach, in en- 
deavouring to pass by the obstacle in the road, drew 
close up to the shops, which were principally occupied 
by vendors of old ironmongery who, for the purposes 
of their business, had large bulks, or wooden boards, 
projecting over the narrow footpaths. In front of one 
of these shops which had for its sign a crowned heart 
pierced with an arrow, accompanied by a scroll describ- 
ing this emblem, was a mounting-block, an article 

common enough then in every street in Paris when all 

244 



The Crime 

men and many women coming or going any distance 
rode on horseback. From off this block there sprang 
a man, ragged and unkempt, who hurled himself at the 
King, struck at him with a dagger which glanced off his 
body between the armpit and the left breast, then struck 
again and, this time, buried the knife in the victim's 
heart, one of the largest veins leading from it being 
severed. Henri fell back in his seat cr5ring, it is said 
by some writers, " Je suis frappe," and, at the same 
time, the Due de Montbazon, taking him in his arms, 
said, " Sire, what is it ? " To which Henri replied 
twice in a faint voice, "It is nothing," the repetition 
of the words being almost inaudible. 

Ravaillac had accomplished his work. Henri IV. 
was dead. 

It is not strange that the Due de Montbazon should 

have asked the question he did, since not one of those 

in the carriage ever acknowledged that they had seen 

the blows struck, or even the gleam of the knife as it 

rose and fell in the hand of the murderer. Yet some 

there were in that carriage who were loyal and true 

to Henri, no matter what the others might be. 

Caumont, Marquis de la Force, loved him ; de Lavardin, 

de Roquelaure and Mirebeau did the same. But 

d'Epemon, we know, was steeped in treachery to the 

lips, and de Montbazon was more than suspected of 

245 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

being badly inclined towards Henri. With these, 

there may have been a reason for their statement, 

though, since numbers in the street had seen the 

deed, it is inexplicable. Did they, or, to speak 

only of him who was known to be a traitor — did 

d'Epernon imagine that, for some purpose, Ravaillac 

had been employed, unknown to him, by those 

with whom he was in collusion? Or did he see, 

in this man's sudden appearance on a scene which 

he had more or less arranged to suit his own purpose, 

something he had not dared to expect or hope, and 

did he decide instantly to pretend to be utterly unable 

to even understand the crime or comprehend how it 

could have come about ? We shall, however, perceive 

immediately how quick he was to grasp one thing, 

namely, that in Ravaillac's deed all suspicion would 

most probably be averted from him and his confederates 

for ever. 

The street became a scene of wild confusion the 

moment after the murder had taken place. Shivering 

by the side of the carriage stood the starved, dishevelled 

form of Ravaillac ; a dazed look on the man's face and, 

it may well be, a dazed feeling in his brain at what he 

had done. La Force had sprung from the vehicle and 

was about to run him through with his drawn sword, 

after crying out to the Baron de Courtomeyer — who, with 

246 



The Crime 

many others of the Court, had followed the cortege 

on horseback from the Louvre — to go on at once to 

Sully and inform him of the tragedy that had occurred. 

People were running about excitedly, shouting that the 

King was slain ; heads were thrust out from every 

window ; women had fainted in the street, when, sud- 

dently, from the farther end of it there appeared ten 

rough, well-armed and ferocious-looking men who 

cried, " Death to the murderer ! Slay him at once ! 

He must die now — on the spot ! " A moment later, 

Courtomeyer rushed at these men while dragging his 

sword from its sheath, and they instantly disappeared 

down a side street — never to be seen again. 

They had received an order they dared not disobey. 

Erect, the Due d'Epernon had faced them ; in the 

tone of command he had been accustomed to use when 

he was the mignon of Henri IH., the tone he would 

have often used before Henri IV., had he had the courage 

to do so, he cried, " Harm him not ! Your lives for it 

if you touch him." It was not unnatural that he 

should thus behave. Ravaillac was too precious to be 

slaughtered on the scene of his crime, too valuable a 

witness of the fact that he and d'Epernon had never 

had any intercourse together, that he had never spoken 

to d'Epernon, had never touched one sou of the bribes 

which had gone into the pockets of the ten bravoes 

247 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

who had, doubtless, been well paid to do that which 
the actual murderer had done for nothing while anticipat- 
ing them. The unhappy creature was, indeed, so 
precious that, instead of handing him over to the per- 
sons proper to take charge of him, the Duke first of 
all incarcerated him in the Hotel de Retz which was 
in his possession, and then in his own residence, where 
he allowed the public to see him, to talk with him, or 
talk to him, and to extract any information they could 
from him, D'Epernon could have done no wiser thing 
— for himself and his colleagues ! Ravaillac had become 
a murderer, but a lie was a thing abhorrent to the 
religious zealot. He was, therefore, the best witness 
d'Epernon could have obtained to prove that he had no 
possible knowledge of Ravaillac's own crime. 

On the road back to the Louvre an attempt to revive 
the King was made by pouring wine into his mouth, 
but it was useless. Once, at the commencement of the 
melancholy return journey, an officer of the guard 
lifted his head in his arms and the eyes opened for an 
instant, probably owing to the movement caused by 
the upraising of the corpse. On arriving at the Louvre 
the Due de Montbazon and others carried the body to a 
bed in Henri's private cabinet, whence it was later 
removed to his own bedroom. 

It was to the Duchesse de Montpensier that the 

248 



The Crime 

melancholy task fell of breaking the news to the 
widowed Queen. Of the highest rank, both by her 
husband's position and her own birth, she had always 
been one of Marie's most intimate friends since the 
latter first came to France, and, on this occasion, 
Madame de Montpensier was sitting chatting with 
the Queen, while she, who had been distracted earlier 
by the King's manner ere leaving her, was lying on 
the couch and was not dressed, nor had her hair been 
arranged. Hearing a noise of cries and sudden exclama- 
tions by many voices in the corridors, she besought 
the Duchess to go to the door between her bedroom 
and that of Henri, wherein there was also much excite- 
ment, and demand the reason of the tumult. Doing so, 
the latter opened the door a little — she, too, was en 
deshabille — and, looking out and seeing a number of 
excited persons in the passages, closed it sharply again. 

A moment later the unfortunate Queen had sprung 
from her couch, her suspicions aroused, and, rushing 
across the room, she cried, " My child ! He is dead ! " 
and then attempted to re-open the door with her own 
hands, while the Duchesse de Montpensier could only 
ejaculate through white and trembling lips, " No. No. 
Your son is not dead." After which, throwing her arms 
round the Queen, she endeavoured to prevent her from 
entering the adjacent room. In another instant Marie 

249 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

had, however, got the door open again, only to stagger 
back at seeing before her the Captain of the Guard, 
who muttered hoarsely, " Madame, we are lost." Push- 
ing him aside from where he stood blocking her view 
of the King's cabinet, she saw her husband's body 
stretched out, his face " white as marble," and he, as 
she understood in an instant, dead. Directly afterwards 
she reeled against the wall and fell into the arms of the 
Duchess, who, with a maid, placed her on her bed.* 

D'Epernon was the first to be allowed entrance and 
came in muttering that, " perhaps the King was not 
dead after all ; " and he was followed by de Guise, Le 
Grand and Bassompierre, who all knelt and kissed 
the Queen's hand and vowed eternal loyalty and fidelity 
to her.f 

The horror which spread over Paris — and afterwards 
over the whole of France — as the news became known, 
the lamentations and mourning, probably exceeded 
any which have ever been testified in Europe at the 

* Bassompierre wrote his description of this scene long afterwards, 
when he was still a prisoner in the Bastille. It is the most graphic 
of all the accounts of Marie's reception of the fatal tidings. Richelieu, 
however, runs him close, though in fewer sentences. Fontenay- 
Mareuil and Matthieu are both excellent in their way — as they mostly 
are in all they narrate. 

t Dean Kitchen says in his History of France (1610-24 period) : 
" When they came to tell her {Mary dei Medici) {sic), she showed 
Uttle astonishment, she feigned no sorrow." This is a strange 
interpretation of the remarks of all the ambassadors, diarists and 
memoir-writers of the day. 

250 



The Crime 

assassination of a Sovereign. All night, and for several 
nights following, people refused to go to their beds 
and walked the streets in groups, or sat round the 
fountains and on the benches, crying and weeping. 
Women tore their hair out, it is said ; men, explaining 
to their children what had happened, were heard to 
exclaim again and again, " What is to become of you ? 
You have lost your father." / De Vic, the governor of 
Calais, died an hour after learning the news ; a brave 
soldier, le Capitaine le Marchant, did the same thing 
when his son-in-law, Le Jeay, a President of the Law 
Courts, informed him of what had occurred. Sully 
sprang from his sick-bed on being told of what had 
happened, and exclaimed that it was the end of France. 
A moment later he gave orders for his followers to saddle 
and mount and escort him to the Louvre. On his way 
there he was, however, met by some of his friends who 
implored him to turn back since the Queen could not 
possibly see him, and because it was rumoured all over 
Paris that assassins were waiting to make him the next 
victim. 

Determined, however, to proceed, he was met by M. 
du Jou, a councillor, who said, " Beware for yourself. 
This strange blow will have terrible successors." At 
the entrance of the Rue Saint-Honor6 a letter to the 
same effect was put into his hand. At last, at the cross- 

251 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

ways known as les Quatre Coins, Vitry, Captain of the 
Guard, came up to him in tears. " France is finished," 
he exclaimed. " Where are you going ? Either you 
will' never be allowed to enter the Louvre or, if you 
are, you will never be allowed to leave it. There will 
be awful results to this crime. Go back to the Arsenal, 
there is enough for you to do already." Finally, Sully, 
recognizing the wisdom of these warnings, took the 
advice given him. Richelieu, always contemptuous of 
Sully, terms this conduct ungrateful and pusillanimous. 
It undoubtedly seems to be so, yet, at the moment. Sully 
was the first man in France ; Henri's son had to be 
acknowledged as King and Marie to be installed as 
Regent, and the Louvre was filled with powerful noble- 
men, every one of whom hated him for his power, his 
rugged honesty and his rude boorishness. It was in 
truth a case of the live, savage dog being better than 
the dead, ferocious lion. 

Meanwhile, orders were given for the whole country 
to assume mourning for the space of two years. The 
Queen shut herself up in her apartments for forty days, 
the Royal children were kept equally invisible ; none 
except those whose business rendered their presence 
necessary in the Louvre was admitted. From every 
church the bells tolled intermittently by night and day ; 
all Paris, from the Court downwards, was a mass of 

252 



The Crime 

sepulchral gloom, while a laugh in the streets, or even 
indoors, was a thing sternly suppressed by the passers- 
by or the watch, in one case, and by the master or 
mistress of the house in the other, A house of mourn- 
ing in France, and, indeed, in England — where many 
customs were then strikingly similar to those of our 
neighbours — was at this time a terribly sad affair. 

All apartments, from the grand saloons to the garrets, 
were hung with black if the head of the family died, 
and, in a lesser degree, when other members did so. 
There was a mourning-bed kept for the state, or principal, 
bedroom, which was thus hung and adorned with inky 
plumes such as, until recent years in England, were 
usually to be seen on hearses and mourning-coaches — 
and in this the succeeding head of the family at once 
began to sleep for a certain number of days or weeks 
or months. When the bereaved family did not possess 
this melancholy piece of furniture, it was borrowed 
from friends or relatives. The ceilings were covered 
with black cloth attached below them, the floors were 
hidden under black carpets and every inch of parquet 
was carefully disguised, while crape was the only wear 
permitted to any person dwelling in the house, no 
matter whether ruler or scuUion. 

This was the custom prevailing among the higher 
or the wealthier classes, and even, to a certain extent, 

253 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

among those less well to do ; but, with the great noblesse, 
or royalty, the period of mourning was a still more 
solemn and imposing ordeal. With the latter, as was 
the case with Marie de Medici — and all widowed Queens 
of France — it was obligatory that the bereaved wife 
should not leave her private apartments for forty days, 
or put off her mourning for two years (in Spain a 
widowed Queen never discarded black), and, although 
the funereal drapings of the palaces might be relieved 
somewhat by silver lace, or by melancholy-looking birds 
or animals of the same metal standing about, no re- 
laxation of any kind could be permitted. Nor were any 
public fetes allowed, nor any amusements or music — 
the theatres, as we have seen, scarcely existed as yet ; 
dancing became a forgotten exercise or was only prac- 
tised with the greatest secrecy. The enthralling 
romances of Mdlle. de Guise (to speak candidly, they are 
well worth reading now), or the lighter works of 
d'Aubigne — which are full of valuable information 
concerning his time — were hidden away, and any 
young lady caught perusing them during the period 
of general mourning would have probably received a 
form of punishment which girls of later centuries 
would not be inclined to credit.* 

* A multitude of French works, too numerous to quote, deal with 
the customs of mourning in France. In England, the Verney memoirs 
are illuminating on this as well as other matters of interest. 



The Crime 

Meanwhile, special embassies and representatives 
from every country arrived, and the body of Henri IV., 
after lying in state for the prescribed length of time, 
was solemnly interred in the vaults of St. Denis (from 
which it was, in company with those of other monarchs, 
torn by the Revolutionists one hundred and eighty- 
two years afterwards), and his heart was buried in the 
abbey of La Fleche. 

Fate had done its worst, and the most beloved King (as 
well as the best hated by some) that France has ever 
known slept in peace.* 

It is, however, to the plot — with all its ramifi- 
cations, the occasional truths and the numerous lies 
that were told in various quarters, the adventurers 
and the adventuresses of aU ranks and classes — as dis- 
tinguished from the deed of RavaiUac, that we have 
now to turn our consideration. 

First on the scene comes Jacqueline le Voyer, or 
la Comans or I'Escoman, as she now began to be 

* In the whole of the description of Henri IV. and of his death, 
I have followed only the best contemporary French writers (principally 
those named in earlier pages than this), while carefully collating them. 
To mention the names of all whom I have consulted would require 
too much space. Moreri, in his great Dictionnaire Hisiorique, states 
that, up to his time (1643-1680), fifty historians and more than five 
hundred panegyrists and poets had written about Henri IV. How 
many more have since done so in different countries, and languages, 
no man can reckon. 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

termed ; the adventuress, entremetteuse, folk, etc., as 
she was spoken of — and brave woman and victim of 
others as she afterwards came to be considered. 

In the preceding pages attention has been drawn to 
her, and it is now important to take up the narrative 
concerning her proceedings and revelations. 

When she first attempted to obtain an interview 
with Marguerite de Valois, which was eight months 
after the murder of the King, she had but lately 
come out of a prison to which she had been sent 
some two years before through the agency of her 
husband, who was most anxious to get rid of her. 
The man had lived upon the money she earned with 
his consent, no matter how small it was or in what 
manner gained, and, when this source of existence 
failed, he had brought a trumpery charge against her 
which might have been true or false, but, considering the 
scoundrel's character, was probably the latter. She 
was now in a deplorable state, without means and 
almost without clothes — both of which facts told against 
her later as proving that her last resource was to become 
what the French term in the case of men, un diseur de 
contes, and in English would mean, in her case, a dis- 
coverer of plots ; and that she was ready to concoct 
any story which would obtain her some reward. But, 

whatever might be her intentions, she approached 

256 



The Crime 

Marguerite de Valois after the latter had attended 
Mass in the Church of St. Victor and implored her to 
listen to what she had to say. 

Marguerite was a very different woman now from 
what she had been in the days of her youth, when no 
man who was fairly good-looking and of decent birth 
could fail to win a response to an admiring glance or a 
whispered word in praise of her beauty. She had 
become, indeed, truly religious and devout, charitable 
to the poor and kindly to all, and was a good and firm 
friend to the very woman who had taken her place on 
the throne. 

As she once was, she would have spurned this hapless 
adventuress from her as a pariah ; as she now was, she 
listened to what the other had to say, the more especially 
as "La Comans " mentioned that, if she refused to do 
so, awful and irreparable disaster might fall upon all the 
Royal family. 

What this forlorn creature did tell Marguerite seems, 
as we unravel the facts, to dispose entirely of the suppo- 
sition that Ravaillac was not a tool of d'Epemon and 
Madame de Verneuil ; yet, as will be seen later, such 
supposition is undoubtedly the right one. The follow- 
ing is the story as "La Comans " is supposed to have 
afterwards dictated it, as it was published, and as it still 
remains in the Archives and Trials of France, Before 

257 17 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

narrating it, however, it may be well to state that Mar- 
guerite summoned Marie and others to hear the recita- 
tion offered by " La Comans," and that they did so from 
behind a heavy tapestry curtain which entirely shielded 
them from the sight of the person to whom they had 
come to listen. It is also proper to say that what the 
Queen (Marie) heard has been supplemented here by 
what, by order of a Court sitting in the Conciergerie 
where Jacqueline was soon to be incarcerated, she then 
stated ; which statement was, later, published. The 
narrative opened by the declaration that, before she 
was sent to prison by her husband's efforts, she had 
found the opportunity of being presented to Henriette, 
Marquise de Verneuil, and, being in want of some posi- 
tion, made herself so useful to that lady and her mother 
that she had soon become essential to them (incidentally 
she asserted that she discovered that Henriette was 
utterly false to the King, and that the young Due de 
Guise was her favoured lover). This pleasant state of 
existence, especially for the narrator, lasted for some 
months and up to the Christmas of 1608,* at which 
time the Due d'Epernon and the Marquise saw 'fit to 
attend church together, there to hear a sermon preached 
by a celebrated Jesuit priest named Gondier, a man 

* M. Michelet calls it the year 1606, which is impossible, as vre 
shall see directly. 

258 



The Crime 

who frequently reproved his congregation for their 
sins and once asked Henri from the pulpit "if he ever 
intended to come and listen to him without bringing 
his seraglio as well ? " 

It was, however, " La Comans " suggested, with no 
fervent religious promptings, nor with any desire for 
spiritual comfort, that either of this illustrious pair 
found themselves in the sacred edifice, but, instead, with 
the full intention of there and then deciding when the 
long-discussed murder of the King should take place. 
Jacqueline accompanied the Marquise de Verneuil and 
was ordered to take a seat in the church in front of the 
two conspirators so that no other persons in their 
vicinity could hear what they were saying and, thereby, 
conclude that the death of the King was decided on. 

Thus runs the narrative, but, at this point, it is a 
strangely involved one. The fact of a third person 
sitting in front of two others would certainly not pre- 
vent the conversation of those others from being over- 
heard in a church crowded with people who came to 
listen to a fashionable preacher, while, if that third 
person was to hide the other two from the sight of a 
portion of the congregation, she should have been seated 
behind the conspirators and not in front, since those in 
that position would scarcely turn round to stare at 

those at their back. Moreover, the selection of a much 

259 17* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

frequented church for the purpose of discussing their 
plans seems a particularly crude performance for a man 
of the crafty nature of d'Epemon, or for a woman so 
astute as Henriette, to indulge in, and it was especially 
so when it is considered that the two could have met in 
absolute privacy elsewhere. They moved in the same 
circle, they were both members of the Court ; the pas- 
sages of the Louvre, or their own salons, would have 
afforded them a far better opportunity of discussing their 
future actions than a church filled with people who 
were more or less of their own rank, and to whom they 
were undoubtedly weU known. Such, however, is what 
the narrative states and as such it has to be accepted. 

" La Comans " (this portion belongs to her examina- 
tion before the Premier President, Achille de Harlay, 
in the Court formed in the Conciergerie) stated next 
that, shortly after the Christmas of 1608, she received 
a letter brought to her by a valet of Balzac d'Entragues — 
who was none other than the father of the Marquise de 
Vemeuil — in which a man who accompanied the bearer 
was recommended to her sympathy and, if Balzac 
d'Entragues did not intend to pay his bill for him, to 
her charity also. She was also informed that she must 
bring this stranger into contact with Mdlle. du Tillet, 
who happened to be a mistress of the Due d'Epemon 

(after having desired to fill the same position with 

260 



The Crime 

Henri, to which she did not actually attain), and who is 
described as being ugly, wicked and spiteful. 

This stranger was Ravaillac, and, when he appeared 
before Jacqueline, he was clad in rags. She states that 
she fed him and bought him new clothes (she appears, 
therefore, to have herself escaped from the want 
and poverty which had originally afflicted her) and 
found him lodgings ; he being at her charge for 
nearly three months. Now, both the rags [mal vetu 
is her term) and this matter of " nearly three 
months " have to be carefully borne in mind in 
reading the interrogatories and answers. The reason 
for doing so in connection with the clothes the 
man wore will appear shortly ; that in connection 
with the period of time during which Ravaillac was 
supported by "La Comans " can be dealt with at once. 
This reason is, however, only given in the Mercure 
Frangois (Richelieu's term for it in after days, Un 
recueil de Mensonges, should not be forgotten), which 
"news-sheet" has always been regarded as suspect hy 
every French writer who has used it for reference. 

Marguerite in her interview with " La Comans " 

naturally asked the inevitable question : " What was 

this man like ? " and the other, looking round at the 

late Queen's attendants, indicated one of middle-height 

with a dark complexion and a black beard. As a matter 

261 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

of fact, however, Ravaillac was a big, well-built man with 
dark, reddish-brown hair and a reddish beard. If, there- 
fore, the Mercure Frangois — which was always a para- 
sitical Court journal (we have seen that Louis XIII. 
favoured it with paragraphs written by himself for a 
reason of his own which the most simple-minded can 
easily penetrate) — was not ordered or paid to insert this 
statement as a means of destroying the total credibility 
of "La Comans " — in fact, if it was true, her whole story 
falls to the ground. But if, in this case as with most 
others, it simply gave to the public what it was forced 
to insert, it refutes nothing that the denunciator 
affirmed. 

Continuing her statement, the v/oman fell into another 
error which was, however, a trifling matter. She averred 
that, in the following spring, the Court went to Chantilly 
(which was then written and pronounced Gentilly) 
after Easter. But, considerable research having been 
made by modern writers as to this fact, it has been 
discovered that the only time at which the Court was 
at Chantilly for a long period was before Easter in the 
year 1609, " La Comans " being, therefore, accurate in 
all but the difference of a fortnight. Her evidence, how- 
ever, shows that the meeting in the church of St. Jean- 
en-Greve between d'Epernon and Henriette must have 

taken place in 1608 and not 1606 as M. Michelet states. 

262 



The Crime 

After all this, " La Comans " went on to state that 
she was employed by the Marquise de Verneuil to get into 
communication with a dependent of hers who had been 
banished by order of Henri as a man supplying in- 
formation to his enemies, but who was actually hidden 
at Verneuil, from which place he was in constant touch 
with Spain, which country, as "La Comans " stated, 
was the principal mover and director of the plot to 
murder Henri ; the Duke and the Marquise being in its 
pay and Ravaillac in theirs. 

On discovering these facts, as she supposed — " sup- 
posed " because she was undoubtedly wrong in her 
surmise with regard to Ravaillac — she determined to 
reveal the whole plot to the King, and, to do so, she 
got into contact with a courtier named Chambert and 
a Mademoiselle de Gournay, who was an adopted 
daughter of no less a person than the illustrious Mon- 
taigne and the one to whose indefatigable zeal is owing 
the fact that the world possesses a final and complete 
edition of the works of the great essayist. Mdlle. de Gour- 
nay was, however, a lady who fully believed that Henri 
was held sacred by all as a " wise and enlightened ruler " 
— ^which description he undoubtedly deserved — and the 
Comte de Chambert was a skilled courtier. When, 
therefore, they saw " La Comans," the first was so 
terrified at what she heard that she considered she 

263 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

was in the company of a lunatic or a woman endeavour- 
ing to make money out of the revelation of a con- 
cocted plot, and the Count refused to have anything 
whatever to do with their visitor. 

Meanwhile, Henriette had heard of what has been 
termed the indiscretions, namely, the statements, of 
" La Comans," and the woman was turned over to the 
service of Mdlle. du Tillet, who was quite capable of 
keeping a strict watch upon the goings and comings 
of the other, though her astuteness appears to have 
failed to perceive that, at the same time, " La Comans " 
was keeping an equally careful watch upon her. That 
this was so is evident, since, later, Mdlle. du Tillet was 
denounced as the person in whose house d'Epemon 
and Henriette were in the habit of meeting to discuss 
their plans, and as the person who was also their go- 
between. 

It may naturally be said, as it has been said by many 
writers since the death of Henri, that, in all this narra- 
tive, there is little proof of its truth. Jacqueline le 
Voyer, or La Comans or d'Escomans, had led a stormy, 
if not an actually wicked life, and one that was cer- 
tainly entitled to be called irregular, while she had no 
single witness to confirm any statement she advanced. 
Moreover, if the Mercure Frangois happened by any 
out-of-the-way chance to be telling the truth about 

264 



The Crime 

her failure to recognize Ravaillac, she was undoubtedly 
inventing lie after lie to ruin three people if not more, 
namely, d'Epernon, Henriette de Vemeuil and Mdlle. 
du Tillet. As for Ravaillac, she could scarcely say 
anything that would injure him, since he was dead. 
But as he had frequently been backwards and forwards 
between Angouleme and Paris in his lifetime, and was 
known as a fanatic who, in dark quarters and places 
where he harboured, often spoke of petitioning the 
King to destroy the Huguenots and support the Pope at 
the peril of being himself destroyed if he did not do so, 
and as he had evidently struck the fatal blows, the very 
mention of his name in connection with the others 
should have been enough to alarm them. 

The actions of the woman at the time were, how- 
ever, openly justified by all that she narrated later, 
as is plainly to be seen by those who take the trouble 
of studying them carefully. On Ascension Day of 
the year 1609, on quitting the house of Mdlle. du 
Tillet, she came face to face with Ravaillac, the 
^late object of her bounty, who at once informed 
her without any circumlocution whatever that he 
had come back to Paris to slay the King. With 
this statement of hers there disappears any farther 
declaration on her part which is not capable of 

corroboration. She goes on to say that immediately 

265 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

after she had left Ravaillac she sped to the Louvre, 
sought out a friend of hers who was a waiting-woman 
to the Queen, and implored her to bring her before her 
Majesty, saying that she had terrible news to impart, 
while offering to produce proof of how constant inter- 
course was taking place between the house where Mdlle. 
du Tillet dwelt and Spain. Of this visit to the Louvre, 
if not of her capacity to produce evidence of letters 
being sent to Spain, ample proof has always existed. 
Yet — and here we arrive at one of the points which 
for so long coupled the name of Marie de Medici with 
the plot of the assassination — the Queen did absolutely 
nothing. She was at the moment about to set out for 
Chartres and to Chartres she went, while sending word 
to " La Comans " that she would receive her on her 
return in three days' time. But, when the Queen did 
return, her next action was to set out at once for 
Fontainebleau, where Henri was ill in bed, and the 
woman was left to haunt the waiting-rooms of the Louvre, 
not knowing when Marie would return. 

" La Comans " was, therefore, in a dangerous posi- 
tion. Her determination to reveal all that she knew 
might well lead to her own undoing. D'Epernon and 
Henriette would accord her short shrift when once they 
knew that she was likely to denounce them. The 
former might, she probably thought, be easily tempted 

266 



The Crime 

to slay her so that she should not be able to prevent 
him from killing Henri. Taking counsel with herself, 
she recognized that her greatest safety lay in confiding 
in some person of importance who would listen to and 
protect her. Unfortunately for her plan, however, she 
sought out and got into communication with a man 
who was, after d'Epernon — though in a different way — 
the worst person to whom she could have gone. This 
was the celebrated Jesuit father, Cotton, a man of 
whom history has said both good and bad things.* 
L'Estoile, who had no particular religious antipathies 
or sympathies, and was, for those days, a large-minded 
and tolerant man, says that Cotton went to see Ravaillac 
in prison after he had assassinated Henri and told him 
to be careful of every word he uttered, and wished to 
make him believe that he was a Huguenot, f Directly 
afterwards, L'Estoile goes on to say that Ravaillac de- 
clared at his examination after the murder that he had 

* Henri offered him the Archbishopric of Aries, and offered to 
procure also a Cardinal's hat for him, in spite of his being an ardent 
converter of Protestants. He refused both, some say out of vain- 
glory. A little later he' was nearly murdered in his carriage — he 
said by enraged Protestants. The real attackers were some lackeys 
whom Cotton had dismissed for insolence. 

t It will be seen that L'Estoile is not quite so clear here as ordinarily^ 
The phrase reads as above, though it is capable of being construed 
as though Cotton wished to persuade the murderer that he himself 
was a Huguenot without recognizing the fact. It is, however, much 
more likely that L'Estoile meant that Cotton passed himself off as a 
Huguenot. 

267 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

held conferences with another Jesuit father, le pere 
d'Aubigne (who was almost certainly no connection 
of d'Aubigne, the Huguenot writer, or, if so, was an un- 
recognized one) ; and that he had shown him the knife 
with which he intended to do the deed. A little later, 
in fact, on the next page, the diarist states that a 
quarrel had arisen at the Council between Lomenie 
(the devoted secretary of Henri) and Cotton, and that 
the former openly charged the latter and other Jesuits 
with having instigated the murder of Henri. 

It is, however, difficult to believe in the accuracy of this 
statement, though quite easy to imagine that not only 
Lomenie, but half the people in Paris, believed such to 
be the case. The reason for doubting its accuracy is 
that Henri had, of late, sought in every way the good- 
will of the Jesuits and, amongst them, none had been 
more humoured and caressed than Father Cotton, whom 
Henri had constituted his confessor. 

Moreover, he had aided the Jesuits to increase their 
colleges, had ordered all bishops, mayors and syndics 
to treat them with gentleness and respect, and to them, 
and their college of La Fleche, he bequeathed his heart 
after death. If, therefore, they were absolutely con- 
cerned in the plot against his life they would only 
have been so in obedience to orders they could not 
venture to disobey — namely, those of Spain. 

268 



The Crime 

Whether this were so or not, it is the fact that 
Jacqueline le Voyer, dite " La Comans " or L'Escomans, 
did not make a particularly good choice in endeavouring 
to communicate with Cotton. When she arrived at 
the convent where he dwelt he was out, or said to be 
so, but his second in command told her that she could 
see him on the next day. On the next day, however, 
he had gone to Fontainebleau — in much the same manner 
as the Queen had gone to the same place to see Henri — 
and, driven to desperation, the woman told all she had 
to reveal to Cotton's deputy and implored him to at 
once communicate with the King. This person treated 
her, however, with considerable coldness, remarked 
that such methods required time for consideration, and 
bade her go away and pray for guidance. 

Whatever may have been the hour usually selected 
by " La Comans " for her prayers, this, at least, did not 
appear to her a suitable time for the purpose. Her 
always irascible temper was aroused by these continual 
evasions and postponements, and she announced to the 
priest in a very firm tone that she should at once set 
out for Fontainebleau and, when there, find means to 
communicate with the King himself. This, however, did 
not seem to be an undertaking which at all commended 
itself to Father Cotton's representative, and, conse- 
quently, he said that he would spare her the trouble of 

269 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

doing so, and would, instead, go himself. There is no 
proof obtainable that he ever went to Fontainebleau 
for the purpose, and quite as much lack of proof that one 
word of what " La Comans " could tell ever reached 
the ears of the King. Meanwhile, no farther oppor- 
tunity was left to her of making public any more of 
what she knew, or, as many writers have suggested, of 
what she only surmised or invented. A day or so after 
she had left the priest on the understanding that he 
would at once set out to see the King, she was arrested 
and thrown into the Hotel Dieu, then serving as a House 
of Correction, from which she managed to escape, only 
to be re-arrested and imprisoned in Le Chatelet. An 
ignominious charge was brought against her by her 
husband, who, it has been hinted, was paid to make 
it — an action of which he was quite capable — and as 
a result of it she was condemned to death. She, how- 
ever, struggled valiantly to save herself, appealed against 
the sentence, asserted that, before it could be carried out, 
she had means of telling far more than she had as yet 
divulged, and — which appeared strangely significant in 
the eyes of most people — obtained an extraordinary 
revision of her sentence. It was now altered to one 
which declared that she should be secluded in a con- 
vent and that her husband should pay a small sum a 
year for her maintenance, or take her back as his wife. 

270 



The Crime 

Neither of these suggestions were agreeable to that 
person, and the final result was that, after another 
appeal for liberty, she found herself free. 

Such was the narrative which this woman told briefly 
to Marguerite de Valois, and more extensively to her 
judges, after she had been again arrested and, on this 
occasion, sent to the Conciergerie — principally on the 
demand of d'Epemon. For those who had been 
behind the hangings with Marguerite and Marie were 
not likely to remain silent and, even had they been 
requested to do so, of which there is no suggestion, 
did not comply with the request. De Harlay, an 
upright and honest judge, justly remarked that what 
" La Comans " had advanced was sufficient to bring all 
whom she inculpated to their death, and that, conse- 
quently, if what she stated was untrue, she merited 
the same fate herself. 

Indeed, " La Comans " had gone even farther than 

has been set down here, since she insinuated that 

d'Epernon and the Marquise de Verneuil had bribed 

her husband to bring his charge against her, so that she 

should be imprisoned and deprived of all opportunity 

of testifying farther. As an alternative, however, she 

stated that, if it was not they who obtained her first 

incarceration, then that incarceration was due to Father 

Cotton who no sooner heard what she had told his 

271 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

brother priest and representative than he at once caused 
her to be arrested. 

The result of this interrogation and of her depositions 
(they are always spoken of as having been published by 
her, though, as a matter of fact, they were published by 
the orders of the Parliament and, as many persons 
have surmised, were arranged, or " edited," to suit the 
purposes of what was at best a mock trial) was as 
terrible as any punishment that could befall a living 
creature. She was ordered to be imprisoned within four 
walls for the rest of her life, and, shortly after her con- 
demnation, she was sent to a prison named les Filles 
repenties, where she was immured in a cell surrounded 
by an iron cage so arranged that she could neither speak 
to anyone nor be spoken to. As for those whom she 
accused, they were all acquitted. 

As regards this statement of Jacqueline le Voyer, or, 
in other words, the printed and published statement 
issued by the Parliament four years after the death of 
Henri — which may have been complete and exact, but 
was, in all probability, garbled and distorted — no attempt 
to analyse it is made here for the present. There re- 
mains, however, still another person's statement, portions 
of which are yet in existence and the whole of which 
has been carefully handed down to their successors by 
those who were the leading writers of history of the day, 

272 



The Crime 

one of whom was Matthieu, the re-appointed* Historio- 
grapher Royal. This second statement now to be pre- 
sented will, as the reader must soon perceive, go far to 
corroborate in many ways the denunciations of the 
unfortunate Jacqueline, and also, in many others, to 
refute, or, at least, cast doubt on, them. Later on, 
when both are carefully scrutinized, some resemblances 
of an extraordinary nature will be apparent ; so 
apparent, indeed, that it is difficult not to believe 
that the second was partially a copy of the first, or, 
rather, that the second was made to coincide with the 
first, the opportunity for doing so being, as we shall see, 
easily found. 

This second denouncer was one of that class of men 
whom dramatists and romancers of all ages, from Shake- 
speare, Calderon and Lope de Vega to Mdlle. de Scudery, 
Defoe, and many others, have loved to portray, namely, 
a man who lived by his sword, who roamed from land to 
land offering it to whichever chief would pay the highest 
price for it, and, when the business of war was slack, was 
not unwilling to put that sword to uses that were not 
the noblest for which it was originally made. Swash- 
buckler, bravo, matamore, bretteur, mangia-ferro, etc., 
are the names, among several others, by which these 

* By Louis XIII. Moliere speaks, in Sganarelle, of Matthieu's works 
as ouvrages de vaieuVi 

273 18 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

men have mostly been distinguished, and although, 

in the present case, there is no particular evidence that 

this one was entitled to any of these epithets, he was 

undoubtedly an adventurer in a certain sense of the 

word. 

His name was Pierre Dujardin ; his nom de guerre, 

M. le Capitaine la Garde. His warlike exploits had been 

considerable. Once a soldier under the romantic Biron, 

he had wandered far and fought with impartiality in 

whatever army possessed the best-filled war-chest. 

Now, when he makes his first appearance in connection 

with the plots fomented so frequently against Henri, 

he is to be seen at Naples, where he has disembarked 

from a felucca which has brought him from Turkey. 

His sword had but recently been hired by the Turk, 

and its owner, having fulfilled the services for which he 

was paid, was next about to proceed on another voyage 

to Marseilles and to ride thence to Paris. Naples was, 

however, in those days — as it still is in a more subdued 

manner — one of the most delightful places in Europe, 

The Spanish Viceroy was a man of hospitable habits, 

and the same may be said of the Neapolitans ; while 

what would be especially dear to the heart of the French 

adventurer was the fact that the place was full of his 

own countrymen of different shades of politics, means 

and habits. Old Leaguers were here who either would 

274 



The Crime 

not or could not live longer under the rule of their con- 
queror ; so, too, were many French Roman Catholics, 
lay and clerical, and several diplomatic representatives 
of other countries. 

In this society La Garde instantly found himself at 
home, and the more so as he had not been ashore 
many hours ere he stumbled across an old friend who 
had once been the secretary of his early commander, 
Biron. This gentleman made him welcome at a table 
reserved for his daily use at an Ordinary, and he was 
also the guest of another friend who, when " The 
League " was powerful, had been the Lieutenant of the 
Chatelet, in Paris. Shortly after La Garde had joined 
this company he observed a man enter who was warmly 
received and treated with great cordiality by all present, 
and he states in his factum (from which much of this 
account is derived), that the new-comer was well-dressed 
in a " scarlet violet " costume and that his name was 
Ravaillac. (This is a considerably different account of 
Ravaillac's apparel from that of " La Comans," who 
states, as we have seen, that the future assassin of the 
King of France was mal veiu when she met him.) With- 
out any hesitation, the man, according to La Garde, 
plainly said in reply to a question from one of the com- 
pany that he brought letters from the Due d'Epernon 

to the Viceroy, and that, directly after he had received 

275 18* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

an answer to them, he intended to return to France and 
assassinate the King, which deed he made no doubt of 
accomplishing easily. 

La Garde makes no mention of observing any surprise 
on the part of his friends at this portentous news, so 
that, if he had not, ere this, described the company in 
which he mixed as one composed of " malcontents," we 
might easily gather that such was the case. 

Continuing his statement, La Garde goes on to say 
that, a few days later, the ex-Lieutenant of the Chatelet 
requested him to go in his company to pay a visit to a 
Jesuit priest named Le Pere Alagona, a man of good 
family who was uncle to the Due de Lerma, lately Prime 
Minister of Spain, or, rather, of Philip III. of Spain. 
After some conversation on the subject of La Garde's 
means, political feelings and adventures, the soldier was 
somewhat startled by the priest suggesting to him that 
he should undertake Ravaillac's task of slaying Henri, 
since the other would only perform the business like a 
footpad, while he would do it like a cavalier. The priest 
also stated that, for remuneration. La Garde should be 
made a Grandee of Spain and receive a sum of fifty 
thousand crowns. 

As has been said, La Garde, though more or less of a 
mercenary and free-lance (as, at this time, were thou- 
sands of men in Europe whose sword was their only 

276 



The Crime 

fortune), had never had any charge brought against him 
of being a cut-throat or murderer, and it is not, there- 
fore, surprising that he should have demanded eight 
days for reflection — presuming, of course, that his story 
is true and that the offer was ever made at all. Mean- 
while, he states that he consulted a man known to him, 
of the name of Zamet (brother of the Zamet who was 
often spoken of as an early lover, as weU as, eventu- 
ally, the poisoner, of Gabrielle d'Es trees, who, as has 
been shown, was probably not poisoned by any one), 
but omits to say what advice he received on the subject. 
He, however, tells us instead that he at once set out 
for Rome where he saw the French ambassador and in- 
formed him of the offer, the ambassador instantly send- 
ing on the information to de Villeroy, a Secretary of 
State in Paris. 

Arrived himself in Paris, La Garde says he saw Henri 
at Fontainebleau, who told him that the same story 
from the French ambassador at Rome, and from Zamet, 
had already reached him, but that he had by now so 
much reduced his enemies and rendered them powerless 
that there was little left for him to fear from their efforts. 
Henri did not, however, offer any reward to La Garde 
for his services and, war breaking out in Hungary and 
Poland, the adventurer, who seems by this time to have 

been without means, betook himself to those countries 

277 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

and did not revisit the Capital until after the murder of 
the King. 

Returning again to Paris, he had then another tale 
to tell, and, this time, with a credible witness to con- 
firm it, namely, the Due de Nevers. He related that, on 
passing by Metz (which was again under the governor- 
ship of d'Epemon, Louis XIII., or, rather, the Queen 
Regent, having restored that office to him), he was 
attacked by the soldiers of the garrison, received twenty 
wounds in various parts of his body, and was flung into 
a ditch where he was left for dead. On recovering con- 
sciousness he dragged himself to Mezieres, where he 
encountered the Due de Nevers, who brought him in 
safety to Paris. That he had received the wounds was 
visible to aU eyes, and the Duke's testimony corroborated 
his own. 

After this experience La Garde considered that the 
time had come for him to receive some compensation 
for his various services — he being again without means — 
and he made an appeal to the " Royal Council "for a 
grant sufficient to keep him from poverty, which appeal 
was at once rejected. Irritated at this, he stated that 
he was in possession of several secrets concerning the 
death of the late King, and also of the names of all 
those who had compassed it, and he now addressed 
his request to the Etats-Generaux — which, as it 

278 



The Crime 

happened, were then (1614) about to sit for the last 
time for a hundred and seventy-five years, namely, not 
until the period of the outbreak of the French Revo- 
lution. The result was that he was again refused, 
but was afterwards offered the small and not-at-all 
lucrative post of controller-general of the beer tax, 
which he at once rejected as unworthy of him. The 
result of this refusal was that he was thrown into the 
Bastille. 

So far La Garde had obtained but a poor recompense 
for any of the services which he considered he had per- 
formed, both in warning Henri of his danger before his 
death, or in attempting to denounce those who had 
plotted that death — and it was some considerable time 
ere he received any consolation for what he was now 
to suffer. He had remained for nine months in the 
Bastille, where, he says, no attempt was made to examine 
him or in any way to discover, or prove or disprove, 
whatever he might have to testify. Following on this 
he was removed to the Conciergerie — where " La 
Comans " had previously been imprisoned ! — and was 
then brought before a Court constituted to inquire into 
what he had to state with regard to the parricide com- 
mitted on the late King (" parricide " being the legal 
term), and, if necessary, to set the law in motion against 

those who might be found guilty. 

279 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

The trial, or, perhaps, it should be said, the investiga- 
tion into the charges made by La Garde was almost 
as unfavourable to him as the preceding one had been 
to " La Comans." The Court appears to have acted 
with a considerable amount of justice towards the latter 
on that occasion, as it did, though in a still more con- 
siderable degree, towards the former, it being in both 
cases much biased against the Due d'Epernon, who had, 
indeed, never behaved towards any of the great repre- 
sentatives of Justice in a manner calculated to win their 
good opinion. At the moment of all the excitement 
attendant on the assassination of Henri, he had forced 
his way into the Council Chamber booted and spurred 
and with his sword by his side. Then, after informing 
the members of it that they were at once to elect Marie 
as Regent, he laid his hand upon the hilt of his weapon 
and exclaimed, " This blade is still in its sheath, but if 
the election is not at once made it, and thousands of 
others in France, will instantly be drawn." 

Later, at the time when he and the Marquise de 

Verneuil were summoned to appear at the examination 

of "La Comans " with regard to her charges against 

them, he approached the President and asked him the 

latest news of the affair, to which the plain-spoken old 

man replied, " I am not your purveyor of news, but your 

judge." On d'Epernon then endeavouring to explain 

280 



The Crime 

that he had merely asked him, as a friend, for informa- 
tion, the stout-hearted President replied, " I have no 
friends " (he probably meaning where duty was con- 
cerned). " Be content, you will see that I shall do you 

justice." , 

Notwithstanding, however, the unpopularity of | 
d'Epernon, which unpopularity extended to the over- \ 
bearing and grasping Henriette, the charges of La Garde \ 
were repudiated and he returned to his cell, there to pass 
five more years of misery and, as far as the world in 
general was concerned, to be entirely forgotten. Yet 
it would seem that, if he were neglected, there were 
those still in existence who knew how to make a profit 
out of him. Some enterprising printer-publisher had 
obtained the full notes of his answers and accusations 
when he was before the Court that sat to inquire into 
his charges, and his factum was now published in the 
usual fashion, the edition of fourteen hundred copies 
being at once sold out. It was helped to this success- 
ful issue by the assistance of several writers and pamph- 
leteers, as well as by critics of more successful authors 
than themselves, who, hating all above them, were only 
too pleased to be able to attack, or assist in an attack on, 
their betters. 

The success of this document had, consequently, an 
efiect on La Garde's circumstances of which he had 

281 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

probably not even ventured to dream, no matter what 
hopes he may have cherished of its procuring him his 
pardon — which, nevertheless, he now obtained. Follow- 
ing on this he was informed that, in consideration of his 
military exploits — which had rarely been performed on 
behalf of France ! — the King had been pleased to accord 
him a yearly pension for life of six hundred livres (about 
thirty pounds). 

After this signal proof of Court favour, and one of so 
opposite a nature to the misfortunes he had lately 
suffered. La Garde may well have been led to suppose 
that there were those in existence who considered it 
better to purchase his silence than to punish his out- 
spokenness. And, if he did not indulge in some such 
reflections as these, he was probably the only person 
in Paris to whom similar ones had not presented them- 
selves very clearly when they heard of his ultimate 
success. 



282 



CHAPTER VI 

THE EXPOSITION 

TT is now requisite to attempt, not so much to sift 
the evidence of the two informers whose characters 
and denunciations have been briefly described, as to 
endeavour to weigh carefully what object, if any, the 
accused persons would have in entering into a plot to 
slay the King ; and to determine whether it was more 
to their interest or against their interest that Henri IV. 
should cease to exist. 

Combined, however, with this attempt another has 
to be made, namely, one in which the credibility of 
both Jacqueline le Voyer and La Garde must be con- 
sidered, and a comparison instituted between the evidence 
of the one and the other, and — which, perhaps, is not 
very far to seek — the reason discovered that prompted 
each of them to either divulge what they knew or to 
assert what they pretended to know. 

Until now, the stories of these informers have been set 
down here as they exist in many accounts of the day, 
in the pages of the most eminent historians of the 

283 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

moment at which the murder was committed, in col- 
lections of papers dealing with the period, which are now 
in the Bihliotheque Nationale and in other public libraries, 
and in the memoirs of prominent men of the time. 
The testimonies of both informers are, indeed, to use 
the language in which they are told. Men documentes ! 
But, when we come to reasons that will justify those 
testimonies, we find few French writers, either of the 
past or present, who have indulged in much argu- 
ment on the matter, while in England, or in the 
works of English writers, it is not too much to say that 
we find little mention of the affair, and certainly none 
at all worth considering. 

In France, the late M. Auguste Poirson has, in his fine 
Histoire du Regne de Henri IV., given us some specula- 
tions on the subject, but he has been more affirmative, 
more denunciatory, than aught else. Indeed, after using 
the facts stated by his predecessors as bearing on the 
probability of there being any plot against Henri in 
which d'Epernon and the Marquise were the principals 
and Ravaillac the tool, he dismisses the whole thing as 
false and unlikely ; and bases his opinion on the fact 
that " La Comans " was a " femme decriee pour ses 
desordres et pour ses infamies." As to La Garde, he 
describes him as the " son of a plasterer " — which 

is certainly not a reason for destroying a man's credi- 

284 



The Exposition 

bility ! — and terms him an adventurer who had usurped 

the title of Captain and was desirous of making his 

fortune by seeking it by aid of his sword in all the Courts 

of Europe. If, however, such a career as this in the days 

of Henri and our own Elizabeth, or of James I., was 

sufficient to destroy the possibility of any man's word or 

evidence being credible, one hardly knows to whom 

one could point as trustworthy among the masses of 

men in England, France, and elsewhere who set out to 

seek their fortunes in those days. In our own land, 

Raleigh, Captain John Smith, Frobisher, Drake, Hawkins 

— among the most distinguished — had done as much ; 

in France there were as many who sought wealth or 

renown, or both, in various directions, though principally 

in Europe. In Spain, Cervantes had been a soldier and 

fought in the great naval battle of Lepanto, where 

he lost his arm ; he was captured by a corsair and 

became a slave in Algiers for five years, after which 

he served again as a soldier and was then a starving 

dramatist until he won everlasting fame by his great 

work, Don Quixote. Lope de Vega sailed in the 

Armada ; Calderon had been a soldier, the manager 

of a court theatre and a Canon of the Cathedral of 

Toledo before he became the leading dramatist of 

Spain and the " poet of the Inquisition." 

The disordered life of the female witness and the 

285 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

adventurous one of the man need not, therefore, be 
considered as true reasons for impugning their credibility 
any more than they need be considered as hkely to 
affirm it. There are many women leading the most 
reckless lives who are not thieves, and there are many 
men who are thieves and outcasts who would refuse to 
swear away the lives of others. 

When, however, the late eminent historian states 
that the woman hoped to build up a fortune by de- 
nouncing the Marquise de Vemeuil to Marie de Medici, 
who, as Regent, would then be able to wreak vengeance 
on the mistress who had stood between her and her 
husband, he comes nearer the mark, though he does 
not necessarily hit it fairly. Also, with regard to the 
man, when he states that he was poor and, consequently, 
was eager to discover a means whereby he should be 
provided for during the rest of his life, he does not fall 
far short of the mark. At the same time, a great part of 
what La Garde states was, if not the actual truth, that 
which all people believed. In France, no one who was 
in touch with the events of the day, or was " in the 
movement," doubted for one moment that the Due 
d'Epernon and the Jesuits were intriguing with Spain 
so that the latter should regain her ancient power over 
the rest of the Continent ; a power that, since Henri 
became King of France, had been. mo§t seriously 

286 



The Exposition 

diminished in spite of his early endeavours to secure the 
friendship of that country. 

Of those persons whose names have been associated 
with the plot, and three of whom were accused by " La 
Comans " and La Garde, four stand out prominently, 
namely, the Queen, d'Epernon, Henriette, Marquise de 
Verneuil, and Ravaillac. As regards the former, the 
charge of complicity in such a plot may be dismissed 
in a few words. Nothing she could gain, not even the 
Regency, could be of any value in comparison with what 
she would lose by her husband's death. Neither could 
jealousy have produced any promptings in even the 
heart of the " vindictive Florentine " towards the 
murder of Henri, since, according to human impulses, 
it would have been against the rival and not the object 
of the rivalry that vengeance would have been hurled. 
The charge that, as has been mentioned, was whispered 
against Marie of having entertained ideas of removing 
Henriette from her path was believed because it was a 
probable one, because it formulated a natural possi- 
bility. But to charge her with destroying, or endeavour- 
ing to destroy, the man whose existence gave her all 
that a woman could desire or obtain in point of splen- 
dour, while leaving the hated rival alive, was absurd. 

As regards Henriette, reasons have also been produced 
to prove that neither would she have taken a part in any 

287 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

plot to murder her lover, since she also received bene- 
fits and advantages from him of which his death would 
deprive her. He lavished large sums of money on her ; 
she had an allowance that was actually drawn from the 
funds of the State, and, as the chere amie of the King, 
she had great influence, while, strange as it may appear 
to us, she was, after the Queen, the most envied woman 
in France. Consequently, those who scout the sugges- 
tion that she would ever have consented to take a part 
in the murder of the King have much logic on their 
side, logic that seems at first to be almost unanswerable. 
Yet but a little reflection serves to show that an answer 
is easily to be found. 

Marie de Medici, in spite of her great position, had 
never been able to hold her own against the Marquise 
in the heart of Henrj ; the latter had, indeed, in all but 
rank and standing, reduced the Queen to a cipher. But, 
supposing that this volatile admirer of women should 
stiU remain stable in his latest passion of all, namely, 
that for the Princesse de Conde, and that he should 
force on a divorce between her and her husband and 
between himself and his wife, what then would be Hen- 
riette's own position ? Although not yet old — she was, 
it will be remembered, but twenty-seven at the death of 
Henri — she was old in comparison with the young and 

handsome daughter of the great house of de Mont- 

288 



The Exposition 

morency, who, most undoubtedly, would soon make 
extremely short work of a mistress who interfered 
between her and the King after he had become her 
husband. " La grosse banquiere," " the Florentine 
woman," who was nearing thirty when she was married 
and was nearly forty then, might have been powerless 
against the favourite's charms, her insulting demeanour 
and violent temper, but was it to be supposed that the 
young Princess of sixteen, and a youthful Queen, would 
allow herself to be superseded by the mistress who 
already suffered to some extent from the worst calamity 
that can befall a once-loved woman, the calamity of 
having grown stale and wearisome ? 

In such a case as this, what would become of her ? 
The Court would be closed to her, her allowance would 
undoubtedly cease ; there would remain nothing for 
her to do but to retire to the estates Henri had bestowed 
on her, and, with the money she had extorted from him, 
vegetate there until the end of her days. 

But, on the other hand — with Henri dead ! With 

the King gone and Marie de Medici still undivorced and 

Regent of France, as she would undoubtedly be if once 

crowned ; with Charlotte de Montmorency still no more 

than the wife of the poor, plain — though highly-placed — 

Conde, could not Henriette still draw large profits from 

the position she had once held and to which she had 

289 19 



The Fate of Hemry of Navarre 

sold herself for profit alone ? Might she not, as the 
ostensible friend of the Queen, whom, in her heart, she 
hated and despised — while supported, as she knew she 
would be, by the arch-schemer and traitor, d'fipernon — 
so guide and rule that Queen as to improve still further 
her position, still draw her allowance, still add to the 
wealth she already possessed ? 

It is not asserted in these pages that this reasoning 
actually took place in the mind of the Marquise de 
Vemeuil ; it is only suggested — remembering her crafty 
nature and her cupidity — that it may well have done 
so. She had intrigued and plotted against Henri ; 
earlier she had schemed to gain him for her lover; she 
had been, if all accounts are true, false to him behind 
his back ; she was, at the moment, the friend and ally 
of d'Epernon and of his mistress, du Tillet, both of whom 
were in constant communication with Spain. It was to 
her interest that, sooner than she should be discarded 
for a younger and handsomer woman backed up by all 
the power of a great family, and by, above all, the rank 
of queen and the possession of the hold which a young 
girl can so often obtain over a doting man nearing old 
age, the man himself should be removed. 

For the Due d'Epernon as many reasons can be ad- 
vanced for treachery on his part as can be advanced 

on the part of the Marquise de Verneuil. By vice 

290 



The Exposition 

almost incredible he had risen from a humble position 
to the post of pander to the most ignoble King (Henri 
IIL) who had ever ruled France. A mignon of that 
King, he had attained to immense fortune and high 
rank, and had become engaged to the sister-in-law of his 
master at that master's request. He had, indeed — under 
the wretched creature enslaved by foul habits and super- 
stitious fanaticism which he imagined to be religion, and 
interested in cooking and larding filets for his courtiers, 
in cutting their hair for them and in turning his bed- 
room into a lying-in home for his dogs — been almost 
king himself. But, when the blow came, when Henri III. 
fell beneath the knife of Jacques Clement and Henri IV., 
that was to be, appeared triumphant and with the crown 
of France as certain to adorn his brows as anything in 
the world could be certain, it seemed to d'Epernon that 
his occupation would soon be gone. Reflection, how- 
ever, undoubtedly brought some comforting thoughts 
to his mind. He had fought with the League against 
Henri ; he now vowed to fight for and with him ; yet, 
still, there remained a deeper, sweeter task to be 
attempted. He could also betray him. We have seen 
that he did not fail in this resolution : in truth, he never 
failed in it. He hated the new-comer, the man who was 
not only the successor by inheritance of the now defunct 

Valois race, but, also, by the nomination of Charles IX., 

291 19* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

and even of the miserable Henri III., as well as by his 
superb prowess and strategy in the field of battle. He 
likewise hated him because he possessed the most ex- 
asperating power one person can possess in the eyes of 
another who is attempting to deceive him or her. Henri 
had the power to see through d'Epemon and mistrust 
him, and he did not hesitate to let the latter perceive 
that such was the case. Doing so, he removed 
d'Epernon's charge of the infantry from him and also 
his governorship of Metz — which entirely broke his 
power to render any assistance to Spain in case of an 
outbreak of war. He ordered him to retire to Loches, 
another of his governments, and it was only gradually 
that the intriguer was able to creep back into a kind 
of subdued and much reduced favour with Henri, and 
to be at his side on the day that he was assassinated 
— a position which, as has been shown in the descrip- 
tion of that assassination, it was almost imperative 
that he should occupy. 

At the first blush, the statement of Jacqueline le 
Voyer seems, when compared with that of La Garde, to 
be strongly corroborated by the latter. She averred 
that it was at Christmas of 1608 that she was taken 
to the Church of Saint- Jean-en-Greve, and, while cover- 
ing the Marquise de Verneuil from the curiosity of the 

congregation, overheard the arrangements made for the 

292 



The Exposition 

assassination of Henri when a suitable time occurred. 
This statement — putting aside the unlikelihood of a 
church being selected as a fitting place for such a scheme 
to be broached between the two conspirators who could 
at any moment have met in a dozen secret ones — might 
well have been true if the characters of the two accused 
are remembered. 

Later, the witness stated that she received orders to 
shelter RavaiUac and to bring him into contact with 
Mdlle, du TiUet, the bitter and scheming mistress of the 
chief conspirator, d'Epemon — a proceeding which also 
fits in weU with the main suggestion of a plot. 

So far, so good, since La Garde on his part tells a 
story of how, a little earlier than the date when the 
woman sheltered RavaiUac, namely, at or about Ascen- 
sion Day in 1609, he encountered the man at Naples 
and heard him openly announce that, after seeing the 
Spanish Viceroy, he was about to proceed to Paris to 
slay Henri. Here, therefore, the confirmation changes 
from one side to the other ; this declaration of La Garde's 
being corroborated by that of "La Comans," who had 
stated that letters were being sent from Mdlle. du Tillet's 
house, and from the house of the Marquise, to Spain, 
of which country Naples was a possession. 

But, already, when we have only examined these two 
statements side by side, we become plunged in a labyrinth 

293 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

of doubt and suspicion. At periods near to one another 
La Garde sees Ravaillac arrive clad in a " scarlet and 
violet " — or a scarlet- violet dress — and take his place at 
a table amongst men who, whatever of evil there might 
be in their lives, were still of some position. Conse- 
quently Ravaillac must have left Naples a little later, 
crossed the Alps and reached Paris — a journey that is 
not a cheap one in these days, and that, in those days, 
was a very expensive one — he being, when in Paris, 
to use " La Comans' " own words, mat vetu. Mai vetu ! 
yet still a man supposed to be employed by one of the 
richest peers in France in conjunction with a woman who 
had been the King's favourite for ten years, and who was 
as grasping as a harpy in the accumulation of wealth. 
A man employed by those who represented Spain and 
were empowered to offer fifty thousand crowns and 
the rank of a grandee to any assassin of the French 
King ! h 

The thought has occurred to many, and it arises now 
as these lines are penned — did Jacqueline le Voyer ever 
see Ravaillac clad in rags, or La Garde ever see him 
clad in scarlet and violet, or did either of them ever 
lay eyes on him before the deed was done ? If so, it 
must have been the woman and not the man who saw 
him, for she alone describes the unhappy wretch " in 

his habit as he lived." 

294 



The Exposition 

But one doubt often leads to another, and from many 
doubts there sometimes springs a shrewd suspicion of 
what is actual fact. 

The woman was in prison, in the first instance, from 
the end of July until some months after the murder of 
the King, and this has often been advanced as a fact 
which precludes her from having seen Ravaillac, who only 
reached Paris again a week or so before he assassinated 
the King ; and that, consequently, her story of succour- 
ing him, of taking him to Mdlle. du Tillet, of seeing him 
in rags and of helping him to obtain new clothes, was a 
trumped-up one. But this need not be by any means 
the case. Ravaillac, as we shall see later, had often 
been in Paris, while frequently making the journey on 
foot from Angouleme — a tremendous one of two 
hundred miles as the crow flies — and generally doing 
so with a view to obtaining an interview with the 
King and petitioning him to be a true friend and 
worthy servant of the Pope and a bitter enemy to 
his old co-religionists whom he had abandoned. 

But, as regards the story of his being poorly clad, she 
could scarcely have failed to describe him thus accur- 
ately, even though she should have been in prison from 
five years before the crime until five years after it, and 
have never laid eyes on the man. All Paris, all France, 
indeed, all Europe, were still ringing with the hideous 

295 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

deed when she stepped outside the prison doors ; pictures 
of Ravaillac were in every shop-window ; numbers had j 
seen him on the fatal day ; descriptions of him abounded 
in the pamphlets and brochures of which frequent men- 
tion has been made — at his execution alone was he clad 
in the garb of the doomed and was different from what 
he had ever been. Had she not been able to obtain a 
description of this man before she had been free an hour, 
she would have had to be both blind and deaf. 

It is, however, also quite possible that La Garde 
never saw Ravaillac, and almost certain — indeed, abso- 
lutely certain — that he never saw him in Naples, for the 
simple reason that the man was never there. His move- 
ments for the last year of his life were traced, after the 
murder, with unerring exactness ; he had no money 
for rich suits of clothes, or for dining at taverns and 
ordinaries ; he never had any — for an equally simple 
reason ; namely, that he was no hired assassin in the 
pay of wealthy men and women. The passage across 
France, across the Alps, and from the Alps to the southern 
portion of Italy, was far beyond the possibilities of the 
man who begged outside churches, who was unable 
to pay for his room at the most miserable of taverns* for 
more than a night or so, and who had to steal the weapon 

* It was opposite the church of St. Roch and bore the sign of " Les 
trots Pigeons." 

296 



The Exposition 

with which he accomphshed his purpose. Nor, indeed, 
was he a man who was Hkely to have been made welcome 
in their midst by the well-to-do exiles and men of rank 
at Naples who were opposed to Henri, or even to be 
allowed to join them at their table. 

Yet La Garde, mixing amongst this company as he 
imdoubtediy did, was almost certain to have heard 
much, if not all, of what was going on in the way of 
conspiracy as well as of what plots were being hatched 
in Naples. The rest would be easy. He had but to 
arrive in Paris himself, which he did soon after he had 
heard of these plots, and attempt to reveal them to 
Henri, Sully and others, and, when the time came for him 
to be interrogated — which did not occur until after the 
King's death — to tack on to them the, by then, wide- 
spread name of the murderer. 

Presuming, too, that La Garde had obtained a very 
shrewd knowledge of the fact that d'Epernon was a prime 
— indeed, the prime — mover in the conspiracy, what would 
be more likely than, on getting away from Metz, the 
place where the Duke was again absolute, he should 
mention him as the man who had caused him to be 
attacked ; or that he should allow the inference to be 
drawn, or should artfully foster its being drawn, that 
the attack had been made with the purpose of silencing 

him for ever ? It is true that La Garde had many 

297 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

wounds upon him when discovered by the Due de Nevers 
and that he had also dragged himself to Mezieres, but 
such things as these have been heard of before and 
since. Men have often wounded themselves with the 
intention of creating an impression that the wounds 
have been inflicted by others, while any man can simu- 
late the appearance of being injured and of staggering 
along a road in a pitiful condition. 

Allowing, however, that this was all part of a system 
which the adventurer had imagined with a view to 
obtaining money, or employment, as a reward for his 
knowledge and the sufferings which that knowledge 
had entailed upon him, he had, nevertheless, adopted 
the very worst course which he could pursue. For, if 
he had really seen Ravaillac, or, at the time of the assault 
made on him, had ever heard of him, the very mention 
of his name and his determination to slay Henri would 
have produced for La Garde as large a reward from 
d'Epernon as he could possibly desire. The Duke would 
have instantly grasped the fact that there was in 
existence a man who, through his morbid fanaticism, 
was prepared to perform a deed for which he required 
no pay ; a man who would do for him and his com- 
panions all that he was being paid large sums by Spain 
for the performance thereof, while himself paying smaller 
sums to the actual hired performers ; a man who, not 

298 



The Exposition 

knowing d'fipernon, could never shield himself behind 
his powerful presence or inculpate him in the slightest 
degree. But, if the attack at Metz was actually made on 
La Garde, he had not then, he could not have, this 
powerful card in his hand, for, as has been said, the 
simple reason that it did not exist. It never existed 
until Ravaillac's name was, after the murder was perpe- 
trated, the one most widely known in Europe for a 
time. 

It is scarcely to be doubted that this explanation is 
the true one : that La Garde did obtain at Naples the 
knowledge of an actual plot being fomented against 
Henri, but could not, at the same time, have learnt any 
information concerning the future murderer, who did 
not play a part in that plot. For corroboration of this, 
we have but to suppose that Henri paid no attention to 
La Garde's story — if he ever heard it, as La Garde states 
— because Ravaillac's name could not, at that period, 
have been mentioned in connection with it, and because 
the only conspirators of whom La Garde could speak were 
in the Spanish dominions and out of the reach of Henri. 
The King almost invariably ignored the plots against 
him because, probably, he knew that they were always 
in existence, and also because he was aware that, sooner 
or later, one of them must be successful. But he was 

not foolhardy, and, if La Garde could then, at the inter- 

299 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

view, have mentioned the name of Ravaillac and have 
stated that the man had left Naples for Paris determined 
on murdering Henri, he would, undoubtedly, have 
caused a hunt to be made which must surely have 
unearthed him. 

With " La Comans " the same argument may well 
apply. The confidante of the Marquise de Verneuil, 
the go-between of her mistress and Mdlle. du Tillet ; 
the woman who must have overheard, in true 
waiting- woman fashion, the conversations between 
d'Epernon and the others — even putting aside as 
unveracious the meeting in the church of Saint- 
Jean-en-Greve — would have learnt much. In her 
case, therefore, as in that of La Garde, she had 
but to tack on to her story the name of Ravaillac, 
after he had become the actual assassin, to give the 
necessary finishing touch of verisimilitude to the narra- 
tive. The only difference of any importance in the story 
of the two informers is that she was right in her de- 
scription of Ravaillac's appearance and La Garde was 
wrong. But her opportunities of being accurate were 
the greater. She came out of prison soon after the 
murder ; La Garde did not go into prison until the 
crime had almost sunk into that oblivion which settles 
inevitably over the most appalling and exciting 
episodes that astound and shock the world for a 

300 



The Exposition 

time. And, if no knowledge had come to the man 
(who was in Hungary or Poland at the moment of 
the assassination) of the needy circumstances of 
Ravaillac, he would probably be led to describe him 
as being handsomely clad, since he would naturally 
suppose that the tool of high-born and wealthy con- 
spirators would hardly be dressed like a scarecrow or 
be without money in his pocket. 

Such are the doubts which those who read carefully 
the factums of Jacqueline le Voyer and La Garde cannot 
but feel rising in their minds : there remain, however, 
many facts which go far towards causing thoughtful 
inquirers to recognize that there is much to be said in 
favour of the evidence of both these persons. Let us 
again regard the case of the woman. The whole of her 
testimony is skilfully dovetailed : save and except the 
comparison of Ravaillac with Marguerite's serving-man 
whom he did not actually resemble, it is pieced 
together almost as closely as a child's wooden map 
or box of bricks, while even the mistake of "La 
Comans," or rather the reason why and how she 
made it, is easy of explanation. She went into the 
Conciergerie in June, 1609, and there she remained 
until the early summer of 1610, a period of time 
embracing the formation of the last, and the almost 

successful, plot against Henri as well as the perpetration 

301 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

of the crime by one outside that plot. But, during 
that period, Ravaillac had also been a prisoner in the 
Conciergerie ; it was in it that he was put to the torture 
with a view to extorting a confession from him, and it 
was from it that he went forth to be torn to pieces by 
horses and to have his offending hand chopped off and 
burnt before his eyes. In those days, however, and for 
many years afterwards, life was extremely lax in French 
prisons ; so long as the prisoners were safe within the 
walls but little heed was taken of what they did or 
where they were ; it was sufficient that they were held 
fast. It is, therefore, highly probable that the other 
prisoners, with " La Comans " among them, may have 
obtained a view of the man, and it is possible that it 
was thus that the woman may have seen him " mal 
vetu," though this is not altogether certain, since his 
clothes were supposed to have been torn off his back 
by the crowd when he was arrested the moment after 
the assassination. The story of his crime, however, 
would have reached their ears, since there was often a 
certain amount of good-fellowship between the warders 
and the prisoners, even down to the days of the Revolu- 
tion ; in some way the news of the murder would have 
certainly filtered through the walls and have aroused a 
desire in those prisoners, who were often harmless, un- 
fortunate people, to see so horrible a culprit. But as 

302 




o 



The Exposition 

the Conciergerie was to the end of its use, so it 
was in the seventeenth century, and so it had been 
from far earlier ages — a gloomy, darksome hole, its 
corridors and passages lighted only by rays of 
light that stole through the openings in the day- 
time, and by miserable lanthorns at night — when 
they were lighted at all.* Consequently, if "La 
Comans " ever saw Ravaillac, she probably did so — 
since he would scarcely be allowed to roam about at 
large — when he was going to his torture, and then only 
saw him indistinctly. Her mistake was, therefore, not 
a very serious one, as the serving-man of Marguerite de 
Valois, whom " La Comans " indicated as resembling him, 
had a dark beard and Ravaillac had a dark red-brown 
beard, while the fact that the serving-man was short and 
puny and Ravaillac tall and muscular, might, if it were 
necessary to do so, be disposed of by considering that 
the wretched creature was on his way to or from the 
torture-chamber and had already been half-killed by 
the infuriated crov/d who witnessed his terrible deed ; 
neither of which occurrences would be calculated to make 
him appear at his full height or strength. 

Some of this argument has been broached before 

* It is interesting to read what an Englishman and a philanthropist, 
John Howard, had to say of the Conciergerie so late as 1776 : " The 
dungeons are dark and infected. A new infirmary has been constructed 
having beds which now contain only one sick person at a time." 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

by Richelieu's detestation, Le Mercure Frangois, and 
we may consequently join hands with the eminent 
statesman in believing that it is not, therefore, trust- 
worthy. Sometimes, however, the biggest liars drop 
into the truth by accident, and, although it is not 
to be doubted that this statement was issued by 
the "newspaper" with a view to disparaging any 
evidence given by " La Comans " that was, in 
other respects, only too accurate, we may well accept 
this as truthful reasoning. We can the better do 
so, since the argument itself is of no particular value. 
What the woman knew, she knew from sources that 
could not be impugned ; whether Ravaillac had a 
black beard or a dark brown one, or whether he was 
tall or short, matters not a jot, while the manner in 
which she might easily obtain other particulars on leav- 
ing her prison has already been suggested. Like La 
Garde's story of the attack upon him by d'Epernon's 
soldiers near Metz, or his description of Ravaillac's 
costume of scarlet and violet, her own was but an added 
detail that might well embellish the whole narrative, as 
a clever painter embellishes a portrait with a suitable 
background, an actor his part with suitable gestures and 
glances, or a stage-manager a play with good scenery 
and costumes. It is, however, proper that the incident, 
itself a detail, should be told here. 

304 



The Exposition 

It is when we come to the punishment of "La 
Comans " that we recognize how terrible must have been 
the knowledge possessed by the woman, judging by the 
sentence passed on her, and also by the pains taken to 
prevent her testimony from ever becoming accurately 
known. " Accurately " because, though her factum 
was published, as was that of La Garde, it was un- 
doubtedly but a mangled account of all that she had 
testified, while it is highly probable that much had 
been inserted to which she never testified at all. No 
one can read the memoirs of the Marquis, afterwards 
Due, de la Force, who was colonel of the bodyguard, 
and, in that capacity, present at the murder; or the 
Methode -pour etudier Vhistoire of Langlet-du-Fresnoy, 
without believing this to be so, or, if they cannot do 
this, without believing the extraordinary actions of the 
judges when her fate was decided upon. She was con- 
demned to perpetual imprisonment within four walls,* 
and all those whom she accused were discharged and de- 
clared innocent ! The judges, who were eighteen in 
number, debated on her sentence for several days, and, 
at the conclusion, there were nine who were strong for 
her acquittal and nine for her condemnation. Neverthe- 

* It was long believed that she escaped by aid of a lover who dis- 
covered her place of incarceration, but that the government of Louis 
XIII. {i.e., of Richelieu) thought it best not to make any further stir 
in the matter. 

305 20 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

less, the above sentence was passed on her ! To all this 
has to be added the fact that, a few years later, a fire 
broke out in the room where the papers that recorded her 
statements, as well as her answers to the questions 
put to her, were stored, and it was freely asserted in 
Paris that it had been caused by the accomplices in the 
plot to murder the King, so that all evidence of her 
story should disappear for ever. Meanwhile, ere this, 
it was openly stated that not only had the greyer, or 
clerk of the Court, written the statement so illegibly 
that no person, including himself, could afterwards 
read it, but also that the judges had all sworn a solemn 
oath on the New Testament never to repeat a word out- 
side the Court of what the woman had narrated, and 
that they had burnt a number of copies of the evidence 
given by her.* 

Thus stands the case of Jacqueline le Voyer, styled 
variously " La Comans " and " I'Escoman," and thus 
it may be left while we turn to the ultimate result of 
the testimony of La Garde. 

It has been told how he rejected the contemptible 
offer of Controller of the Beer Tax (a post about equal 
to that of an inferior Custom-House officer), and that, 
on the rejection, he was incarcerated in the BastiUe; 
those who had procured him the offer of the post being 

* L'Estoile, Germain-Brice, P. I/acombe, and many others. 
306 



The Exposition 

probably of the opinion that, since he could not be 
bribed, he had better be prevented from speaking out 
more plainly. As has been suggested, his story was 
not wholly true, but it was partly so. If he was 
wrong in the tag which he attached to what he 
really knew, he was at least right in the main. He 
did undoubtedly come into contact with the self- 
exiled Leaguers in Naples, and was acquainted with 
their names as well as their intentions : he was 
the informant of the French Ambassador at Rome 
and of Zamet ; and those in Paris who were in 
correspondence with the plotters in Naples had the 
best reason for knowing that such was the case and that 
there was no invention on the part of La Garde in the 
particulars. But, even in those days, and especially 
after Louis XIIL had uttered the remark that he would 
cause more full inquiries to be made into the manner 
in which his father had lost his life, it was impossible to 
imprison a man — who, at the best, was doing a service 
to the country in exposing the plotters, and, at the worst, 
was stm doing it, though with a view to his own ad- 
vantage — without inquiring into his statements ; with- 
out, in fact, trying him. Nevertheless, the trial did 
not take place until his factum was published, and, as 
has been shown, the result was that he was awarded 

a pension for life. 

307 20* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

It has been said that the acceptance of this pension 
nullifies the whole value of his information, but that 
is not the light in which that acceptance should be 
regarded. He undoubtedly wanted money, he was 
worn with the life he had led, but, in endeavouring to 
obtain a sum which should save him from starvation in 
his old age, he was only doing what ninety-nine men in 
a hundred did in those days when they had something 
to sell or some claim to advance. Moreover, with the 
power he held in his hand, he could have stipulated for 
a far larger sum, and would, in all probability, have 
got it ; or he might have applied to Spain to pay him 
handsomely to hold his tongue, in which case he would 
have run no risk whatever of imprisonment. Spain 
would, it is obvious, have been willing enough to do 
this, since it would have been most unadvisable for her 
to perform any act — or be known to perform any act — 
which would cause Henri to withdraw his encouragement 
of the Jesuits, or drive him to exert his superior military 
power against Spain herself. Spain ! — whose armies 
were now composed of peasants, full of martial instincts, 
it is true, but void of the most elementary rudiments of 
military science ; Spain — whose coffers, once bulging 
with wealth, were now almost empty ! 



308 



CONCLUSION 

TN following Ravaillac's words and actions from the 
time when he committed his murderous deed to the 
moment when he expiated his crime by a hideous death, 
we may look forward confidently to proving that, not 
only was he actually independent of any plot what- 
ever that d'Epernon had set on foot, but also that — not- 
withstanding the fact of this traitor having undoubtedly 
arranged a plot to slay the King on this very journey — 
everything justified the Court of Enquiry, ordered by 
Parliament, in acquitting d'Epernon and his friends 
owing to the inexactitudes which appeared in the 
testimonies of Jacqueline le Voyer and Pierre La Garde. 
That, however, the Court of Enquiry was glad to do so 
cannot be doubted. The members of it were, indeed — 
remembering the power of d'fipemon, the innate wicked- 
ness of the Marquise de Verneuil and the bitter tongue 
of Mdlle. du Tillet — afraid to do aught else. As for 
the former, it is doubtful if any verdict of guilty could 
have stood against him, considering his position and in- 
fluence, the infancy of the new King, and the fateful 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

regard which Marie must have entertained for the man 
who had forced Parliament to constitute her Queen 
Regent without loss of time. As to the stories of any 
undue intimacy existing between d'Epernon and her, 
they have already been disposed of and need not be 
referred to again. Next, with regard to the Marquise de 
Verneuil, she, too, was safe — in spite of the Queen's 
loathing for her and the probability that the vengeance 
Italienne of the " Florentine woman," if it existed, had 
never slumbered — from the fact that, if d'Epernon 
could not be proceeded against, neither could she. 
Du Tillet was also safe under his protection, and was, 
in any case, little more than a go-between of the various 
plotters. 

It has, however, been mentioned that Marie was 
regarded by many as having had, if not a share in the 
assassination plot of d'Epernon, at least a shrewd sus- 
picion that such a plot was brewing ; and, if Le Voyer's 
statement that the Queen instantly left Paris on hear- 
ing her story and then returned only to leave it again 
were true, it would point strongly towards the justifica- 
tion of that suspicion. It has been indicated, however, 
that both the statements of these denoimcers — while 
possessing a solid base of what might have been true, 
though, as a matter of fact, they might have been 
gathered after the event — ^required to be considerably 

^10 



Conclusion 

embellished and draped with an air of veracity, as well 
as with a number of incidental circumstances, ere they 
could stand the searching examinations to which their 
authors would be subjected. But, even had all these 
embellishments stood the light of such examinations, or 
had there been no embellishments at all, and only sheer, 
hard matters of indisputable fact produced, there was 
still that in the Queen's own conduct which went far 
to surmount the idea of her being involved in the plot 
simply because she first left Paris on a visit she had 
long been engaged to pay, and then, on her return, again 
left the city to join her husband who was ill at Fon- 
tainebleau. Moreover, her desire to prevent Henri from 
setting out on the visit to Sully is little in accordance 
with the action of a wife who would know, if she were 
in the plot, that this was the day arranged for the 
murder, and that, if she kept the victim at home, she 
would mar the schemes of the others and herself. 

The greatest reason of all has, however, been already 
touched upon, namely, that the drop from Queen 
Consort to Queen Regent is one which it is hardly to 
be supposed any queen would ever desire to make. Her 
revenues suffer by such a change ; her position is enor- 
mously depreciated ; in all cases another Queen Con- 
sort soon, or at once, appears to take her predecessor's 
original place; gradually, as the son of the Queen 

311 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

Regent assumes all the power which her late husband 
possessed, she retires to the position which is the lot 
of all dowagers. Marie was, therefore, scarcely the 
woman to take part in the slaying of her husband 
only to exchange her great position for one such as 
this, even though she had no affection for him. But 
that she had affection for him cannot be doubted. 
Without it she would scarcely have been jealous of 
the Marquise de Vemeuil, she would never have 
exclaimed that the other had poisoned the whole of 
her life, and she would, undoubtedly, have laughed at 
Henri's indecision in setting forth to see Sully instead 
of imploring him on her knees to remain at home with 
her. 

One thing there is, however, in connection with 
the evidence given by Jacqueline le Voyer and by La 
Garde, which appears at first to be inexplicable. This 
is the difference between the treatment of the two 
informers ; the second of whom is accorded a pension 
for life and the first of whom is sent to prison for life. 
In point of fact, the casual student of the circumstances 
would be inclined to say that the female witness knew 
more, and had more to reveal, than the male witness. 
She had been in the secret of the scheme and in the 
house of the Marquise de Verneuil, which was often 
visited by d'Epernon ; in the house of Mdlle. du Tillet, 

312 



Conclusion 

from which place the letters for the plotters in Spain 
and for the Spanish possessions were usually despatched. 
But whatever La Garde knew he had learnt casually, 
as "an outsider " only, and from sitting at meals in a 
tavern with a few persons with whom he had formerly 
had some acquaintance, persons whose information he 
had improved upon by a good many of those embellish- 
ments of which we have spoken. 

Nevertheless, it may be said, after due reflection, 
that he was the most dangerous of the two, for the reason 
that all which Le Voyer stated could be denied, and 
naturally would be, by those witnesses on their own 
behalf, d'Epemon, the Marquise and du Tillet — no 
matter whether the denials were true or false, while 
the statements of La Garde could not be denied by any 
of his dinner companions in Naples. His declaration, as 
well as that of the woman, was not made until the 
murder had taken place ; those companions would 
probably be only too willing, as old Leaguers and old 
Catholics who hated the Huguenots and all Protestants, 
to acknowledge not only the truth of his assertions, 
but to glory in them. As for the story about Ravaillac 
and his crimson and violet dress — to use what was 
probably as much the expression of a Frenchman in those 
days as it is to-day — c'etait un detail, and neither a 
particularly bad nor a particularly good one. 

313 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

But that which played a still greater part than aught 
else in obtaining for La Garde his pension, was the fact 
that one of the enterprising printer-publishers had 
obtained a copy of his factum, or one resembling it and 
written by La Garde himself, and had produced it in 
print. The edition was, indeed, bought up at once, 
perhaps by those whose safety it most jeopardized ; but 
new editions are always easily produced. That had 
to be stopped, and there was only one way in which it 
could be done. The author obtained his pension, the 
printer-publisher was no doubt quite amenable to 
reasoning of a solid nature, and d'Epernon and the 
ladies of his acquaintance heard no more of the matter. 

Turning now to Ravaillac's own statements, given at 
a time when he had nought to fear since his doom was 
fixed irrevocably, and when they were also given for 
the greater part under subjection to one of the most 
awful tortures to which human beings can be exposed, 
let us examine his own answers to the interrogatories 
addressed to him. 

In those interrogatories, published by order of the Par- 
liament, Ravaillac is reported to have said that he 
recognized that the moment for killing the King had 
come when he saw the carriage stopped by the broken- 
down wain, and observed his Majesty turn and lean 
towards d'Epernon to speak to him. Of this answer a 

314 



Conclusion 

great point has been made, as testifying to the fact 
that Ravaillac knew d'Epemon, while, as it was not at 
all probable that such as he would have been likely 
to know one of the principal subjects in France unless 
he had been serving him in some special way, it stood 
to reason that Ravaillac must have been employed by 
the Duke to commit the murder. We have already dis- 
cussed the probability of how the most humble inhabi- 
tant of a country town is almost certain to know the 
most important one by sight, if in no other way, and, 
indeed, the thing is so obvious that it scarcely needed 
any discussion whatever. The above point stands, 
therefore, for nothing. 

Ravaillac is also, in the printed statements, made to 
assert that La Force, when refusing him admission to the 
Louvre, asked him if he was a firm Catholic, and if 
he knew the Due d'Epernon ; and Ravaillac replied 
that he knew of him and that he was himself a firm 
Catholic. 

These answers, as printed, would at once seem to 
decide the argument as to whether Ravaillac was a 
tool of d'Epemon and concerned in his plot, were it not 
that, when they were published, those responsible for 
the publication seem to have forgotten one small inci- 
dent which they would have done well to remember. 
If Ravaillac was a tool of d'Epemon, what justification 

315 



The Fate ©f Henry of Navarre 

had the judges for condemning the former to an awful 
death and acquitting the latter of any complicity in 
the crime ? It is strange that none in those days seems 
to have noticed this extraordinary piece of inconsis- 
tency on the part of the tribunal, and that no writer, 
so far as is known, remarked upon it. 

Later, when the Marquis de la Force had become a 
Duke, he, like so many other persons of high rank who 
had been concerned in the tragic scene of the 14th of May, 
felt an inspiration to write his memoirs. They are not 
only deeply interesting but also full of matter con- 
nected with the period of Henri IV., while, as La Force 
was a brave soldier, a man of honour and a devoted 
adherent of the King, they may be relied upon as trust- 
worthy. Now he, too, touches upon the subject of 
Ravaillac accosting him at the gates of the Louvre, but 
he tells the story in a manner vastly different from the 
way it is told in the officially published statement of the 
murderer, and, indeed, in a manner which was almost 
undoubtedly the one in which Ravaillac himself narrated 
it. The question he is represented as asking, with regard 
to Ravaillac knowing d'Epernon, does not appear, nor, 
of course, does Ravaillac's supposed reply ; while La 
Force states that he could extract nothing from the man 
concerning his business or what he wanted, " either 
by words or menaces." 

316 



Conclusion 

So much, therefore, for one portion of this remark- 
able examination — as pubhshed ! But it is doubly in- 
teresting — and puzzling ! — as it proceeds, especially 
when the shadow of doubt begins to be cast upon 
it ; while, as we read the official report, we are 
almost stupefied with astonishment at noticing the 
innumerable traps which the arrangers of it are con- 
tinually setting for their own feet. They state that 
they threatened the unfortunate wretch with the de- 
termination to bring his mother and father to Paris 
and execute them before his eyes if he would not 
confess who his employers were : yet, when the Due 
d'Epernon and the two women who were accused 
of being his employers are interrogated, they acquit 
them. They tell Ravaillac that his answers are false, 
since, being the son of beggars and himself a beggar, 
he must have received aid from wealthy employers so 
as to be able to make his various journeys and to live : 
yet they know those who are denounced as the wealthy 
employers, and still they acquit them ! Was a more 
extraordinary hotch-potch of legal proceedings ever con- 
ducted in any court of law in the world if the statement 
of those proceedings is to be relied on ? Was ever an 
accomplice in a crime charged with his guilt, while every 
effort was made by those who so charged him, and while 
having their suspicions directed against his employer, 

317 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

to acquit that employer ? And what, indeed, was the 
utility of the greater part of these interrogations ? What 
was the use of attempting to make the man inculpate 
d'Epemon and de Vemeuil when they knew that nothing 
was farther from their intentions than to punish either of 
them ?* Ravaillac's guilt was undoubted, he could not 
deny it, and would not have denied it if he could ; he 
thought, until he stood before the crowd on the Place 
de la Greve and heard their curses and objurgations 
hurled at him, that he had done something that was 
good in the eyes of God and would make his memory 
sweet to the people for ever. 

But still the same irritating, the same puerile examina- 
tion went on. Ravaillac would tell no lies to inculpate 
a man and woman of whom he knew nothing, and the 
judges, who had no intention of ever convicting that 
man and woman, endeavoured in every way to make 
him inculpate them — if the published statement is 
true — which, as a matter of fact, it is not. It is, in 
solemn truth, only a fabricated document meant to 
throw dust in the eyes of the public, and a very badly 
fabricated one at that. Yet it has been believed by 
historians, and its inaccuracies have passed almost 
entirely unperceived. Many things, however, are sup- 

* L'Estoile says on the subject : " The cowardUness of the judges 
in discovering (!) the authors and accompHces was so great as to 
cause pain to all honest men (gens de bien)." 



Conclusion 

pressed in this remarkable production which have found 
their way to the hght through other channels. For 
instance, Ravaillac stated that, if his opportunity to 
murder Henri had not come on the 14th of May, it 
could never have come at all. He had but three testons 
— ^nearly a shilling — ^left. He was that night about to 
abandon Paris for ever, to give up all hope, to resign his 
ideas and seek his living once more in the only place 
where he had ever been able to earn enough to put 
bread into his mouth. And yet he has been accused 
of being a paid assassin of d'fipernon's ! Was there 
ever wilder improbability ? D'Epemon, bloated with 
ill-gotten wealth and remunerative offices ; the Marquise 
well-off by the aid of her greed and immorality ; yet 
both refraining from giving the frenzied assassin — 
their supposed tool, whose knife was whetted to take 
the King's life — enough money to keep him in Paris 
until the deed was done ! 

As another striking instance of the stupidity of this 
document — or of its framers — we may study the answer 
of Ravaillac to one of the questions put to him on the 
subject of his being in the pay of the conspirators. His 
reply was that those who were paid to do such a deed 
as he had done would scarcely, in consideration of their 
desire to earn the pay, come three times to Paris from 
a far-off province to obtain an interview with the 

319 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

intended victim, and to give him a solemn warning of 
what his fate would be if he refused to comply with 
what was demanded of him. 

At last this remarkably constituted Couit of Judg- 
ment, which, while endeavouring to make Ravaillac 
prove that he was an instrument of the plotters, was 
itself endeavouring to prove that the only persons ever 
accused of having constructed the plot could not 
possibly have been guilty of doing so — proceeded to 
further efforts of a different nature. Torture of criminals 
was still in use, though that use had sunk very consider- 
ably from the high level it had attained in earlier days ; 
and it was now resorted to in the case of Ravaillac, It 
is painful to read in the memoirs of such a man as 
La Force and of others, of what he, being in command 
of the application of this torture, was obliged to do. 
The prisoner's thumbs were forced in between the 
trigger and the trigger-guard of a musket, and the 
weapon twisted round in such a manner that, with it, 
the thumbs were also twisted, and one of them finally 
reduced to pulp. But Ravaillac remained silent, or 
spoke only to assert again that he was entirely alone 
in his work and had neither employer nor accomplice. 

The law — that strange law — was now stretched to an 
extraordinary and unheard-of point. The oldest lawyers 

in the kingdom themselves avowed that, since the far-off 

320 



Conclusion 

days of Louis XI., torture had never been administered 
to any criminals except those who denied their guilt 
even when they had been pronounced guilty, and then 
only to those who refused to give up the names of their 
accomplices or employers. But Ravaillac was far 
from denying his guilt, as, indeed, it would have 
been useless to do : he had no accomplices and he 
was already condemned. Nevertheless, the torture was 
again applied and again his answer was the same. He 
had no accomplice and no employer. 

Signs were apparent, however, that a very little more 
of the sufferings he had already endured would be suffi- 
cient to prevent effectually any execution whatever 
from taking place before the eyes of the whole city. 
The strong, robust fanatic, the man who had frequently 
walked a distance of two hundred miles while arriving 
at, and then relinquishing, his determination to kill the 
King ; the religious maniac who, firm in his belief that 
he was doing God's behest, would starve, beg for alms, 
and endure untold privations, could, at last, bear little 
farther torture. He was, therefore, left in peace until 
the morning of his execution, when a final attempt was 
made to force a confession from his lips. It was a use- 
less one. The particular torture he then endured was 
termed " la question pr Salable" because of its closely 
preceding execution, and, since it was the last that could 

321 21 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

ever be administered to the most firm or obstinate 
criminal, was generally of hideous severity. It has, 
however, been advanced — and one may earnestly hope 
that the suggestion is true — that this severity was exer- 
cised more with the intention of stupefying the wretched 
creature than for any other reason, though it is difficult 
to believe such to have been the case, since, between 
its administration and the last scene of all, much 
remained to be done before the execution of Ravaillac. 
It is certain that his death was more awful than the 
death of any criminal has almost ever been in latter-day 
France — if we except that of Damiens, who stabbed 
Louis XV. with a harmless penknife which scarcely in- 
flicted a wound — yet other criminals who were executed 
in the ordinary way had also much to undergo ere they 
were released from their sufferings. 

Ravaillac 's sufferings on this last occasion were 
appalling. The horrible torture known as les brode- 
quins, which was similar to the old Scotch torture of 
the " boot," was administered to him in the following 
manner. A wooden boot was placed on the foot and 
\&^, and into it were hammered wedges of iron growing 
larger and larger until the miserable sufferer either 
answered in the manner desired, or was unable to answer 
anything at all through his having swooned from the 
agony of his crushed leg. 

322 



Conclusion 

Ravaillac grew faint under his sufferings and ap- 
peared about to die, but neither then, nor when he set 
out for, first, his penance at Notre Dame and for, after- 
wards, his shocking death, did he utter any words ex- 
cepting those by which he again denied firmly the asser- 
tion that he had accomplices or employers. 

Excepting only for the words that Ravaillac uttered 
on his way to execution, and on the Place de Greve 
before the fatal moment arrived, there would be little 
use in describing the terrible event ; one that would 
have been more suitable to a race of cannibals than 
to the people of the great Capital which claimed to be, 
not without considerable reason, the leading city of the 
world. 

In describing it we shall see, however, that Ravaillac 

remained unshaken in his statement that he and he 

alone conceived the deed which he perpetrated ; we 

shall recognize how useless it has ever been to doubt 

that, as he had always spoken truthfully, so, at the last, 

in his hour of agony, he continued to speak. To him, 

religion, or what, in his perverted and distraught mind, 

he believed to be religion, was all that he had in the 

world ; to him, absolution ere he left the world was the 

only thing that he required to make his parting from 

existence easy to him. To obtain the latter he swore so 

solemn an oath, and gained it under so awful a pledge, 

323 21* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

that it would have been impossible for him not to believe 
that, even as his soul went forth to meet its God, he 
would have damned that soul to all Eternity had he 
sworn falsely, 
'• Along the awful route he pursued he must have learnt, 
if he had never known before, how foul a crime he had 
committed ; to his dark and clouded intellect there came 
at last the knowledge of how the evil act, which he had 
deemed so good and pure a one, appeared in the eyes of 
his countrymen. As he left the door of the Concier- 
gerie the howls and yells of a vast mob fell on his ears ; 
he saw the brandishments of weapons in the air ; he 
saw and felt the stones hurled at him ; he observed 
little babes lifted in their mothers' arms to see the 
wretch who had slain the King. Where they could 
reach him, he felt women tear his face with their nails ; 
he heard loud-voiced men curse the mother who had 
borne him and murmur against the God who had 
breathed the breath of life into him, while, at the same 
time, he heard those men thank God in that He had 
provided a hell that should receive him at last.* 

Seated in the tomhereau, or scavenger's cart, between 
two priests, whose faces were turned away from him 
in disgust and horror — to the religious fanatic this must 
have been as bitter as the pangs of death itself ! — 

* As stated in the proces-verbal of Ravaillac's execution. 



Conclusion 

wrapped in the sheet in which he was to do his penance 
outside Notre Dame — he went on until, at last, he was 
outside the great door of that solemn edifice. Here 
the crowd was even larger and more compact than 
before : the windows of the houses near and around 
the Cathedral were packed with more cursing men 
and shrieking women ; here he performed his penance, 
and, in the phraseology of the day, made his " amende 
honorable a Dieu." The next step was to the Greve, 
the place of execution. It was not far, but on the way 
the unhappy wretch had the opportunity of observing 
that the Hotel de Ville was packed with all the princes 
and members of the aristocracy who were in Paris at 
the moment, and that, although many of them might 
not actually share in the popular detestation of the 
people for the murderer, they at least pretended to do 
so. Arrived at the Place de Greve, Ravaillac saw the 
signs of readiness for his execution. There was the 
cauldron filled with sulphur, resin, wax and oil, and 
there another filled with molten lead ; one was to 
receive the severed hand which had struck the blow 
that killed the King, the other the dismembered remains 
of the man after his body had been torn to pieces by 
four huge, white horses already standing in the great 
place. One of these horses appeared weary or unwell 
and, amidst a tremendous roar of approval from the 

325 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

multitude, a mounted man descended from his animal 
and led it forth to take the place of the other. 

Now Ravaillac understood ; at last he recognized 
what he had done, and how he had erred in believing 
that his deed could find favour in any eyes. " Had I 
but thought," he moaned, " that I should see what I 
now see, a people so devoted to its King, I would never 
have committed the deed. I thought the public would 
have thanked me and they provide the horses that are 
to tear me to pieces ! " 

He demanded that a Salve Regina might be accorded 
him as he died, and the order was given that it should 
be chanted by the monks. The people, however, in- 
sisted that no such solemn tribute should be paid ; 
Judas, they said, was entitled to none of the solemnities 
of death. 

But, even as his torture commenced, as the hand 

which struck; Henri to the heart was about to be cut 

off by the executioner and flung into the cauldron of 

sulphur and oil ; as the hot pincers tore his flesh and 

the molten lead was cast upon it ; as the greffler 

standing by exhorted him to give up the names of his 

accomplices, the man remained firm in his denials. " I 

have none," he cried. " I — I alone — conceived the 

deed." 

A moment later, recognizing that his death was at 

326 



Conclusion 

hand, and that, if he did not expire from the agony he 
had already endured, the horses would put an end to 
his sufferings, he appealed to the two priests to give him 
absolution. But the request was instantly refused, the 
refusal being based on the fact that he would not divulge 
the names of those whose tool he was. Ravaillac's 
answer, even in this supreme moment, was again the 
same. 

Once more, however, he who did not fear death, he 
who was half dead already, cried out for absolution. 
For, not fearing death, he still dreaded to go before his 
God unabsolved by a minister of that God ; to quit the 
world without a promise of eternal pardon and peace. 
" On condition then," Ravaillac cried, " on condition that. 
if I have lied, the absolution shall be ineffective. On 
that condition grant it to me." 

At last he obtained his wish, yet the words which 
accompanied the compliance with the wretched man's 
prayer were awful. On the condition that, if Ravaillac 
had lied, his soul passed straight to hell, no rest in 
purgatory being accorded to him, he received the desired 
pardon. Yet, terrible as were such words, they had 
no power to affright the murderer. He had no accom- 
plices. He was safe. Eternity no longer held any 
terrors for him. 

A few moments later he was dead. At the third 

327 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

strain of the horses he expired. A httle later still, the 
executioner had begun to dismember him and was 
about to cast his remains into the second cauldron, 
when the vast crowd prevented him from doing so. 
They each required a portion of the body of the 
King's assassin, and most of them obtained one. 
That night many bonfires blazed in and around 
Paris, and in their midst were consumed pieces of 
Ravaillac's frame : on barn doors in other places 
were nailed similar scraps of his body, as hawks and 
owls and carrion-crows were nailed as a warning to 
others of their breed. 

Is it to be doubted any farther that the man who 
died like this — the man who had answered the priest's 
conditions with the words " I accept them " ; who had 
calmly heard that none in France were evermore to 
bear the name of Ravaillac ; that the house where he 
was bom was to be razed to the ground, and that his 
father and mother were to be exiled from France and 
executed as he was executed if they ever returned to 
it — spoke the truth when he averred again and 
again that he, alone and without accomplices or em- 
ployers, had conceived and committed the murder ? 



Between the time when Ravaillac expiated his crime 

328 



Conclusion 

and the revelations of Jacqueline le Voyer, namely, a 
period of eight months, several strange statements began 
to be whispered in Paris and the larger provincial cities 
that, in spite of the manner in which they were bandied 
about, were not referred to in the examination of the 
Due d'Epernon and his two female colleagues. This 
would appear strange to the minds of any persons of 
our time if they had not, ere this, become acquainted 
with the strong resolution to suppress many facts which 
had been arrived at in the Court circle over which Marie 
de Medici now presided, and if it were not remembered 
that Ravaillac had gone to his death with his testimony 
that he was neither a paid assassin nor an accomplice of 
the illustrious accused unshaken. 

When, however, the above whispers became louder 
and more numerous ; when it began to be hinted that, 
though Ravaillac's crime might have been totally 
independent of any plot which chanced to have been 
projected by others who knew nothing of his existence ; 
when the public began to state openly that he had but 
anticipated the murder which was to have been com- 
mitted on the same day in the same neighbourhood — 
namely, on the last day and in the only neighbourhood 
available, if Henri was to be slain ere he could set out 
for the campaign against Spain and Austria — it is indeed 
singular that the Court had no questions to put on the 

329 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

subject at the time that d'fipernon and his companions 
were brought before it. Yet it is equally, or more, 
strange, that, of the fifty historians of whom Moreri 
spoke as writing the life and death of Henri, not one of 
them should have known or heard of the coincidence of 
a double determination to slay him, each of which was 
distinct from the other. They might well have done 
so. There was ample matter afloat which could not 
have been concealed from the ears of either the members 
of that Court or of the general public. 

At Pithiviers, seventy miles from Paris, the Provost 
was playing at bowls with his friends, when, hearing the 
clock of a church strike half-past four, he remarked that 
at this moment Henri IV. was probably dead or badly 
wounded. At the same time the Archbishop of Em- 
brun, in the South of France, discoursing on public 
affairs with some brother prelates who were visiting 
him, observed that it was impossible that evil should 
not occur soon to Henri, while adding : " Even now, at 
this hour " (the time was half-past four) " some awful 
disaster may have happened to his Majesty." 

As regards these two people, the Provost was a man 
of notoriously bad character, and, in spite of the position 
he held, was strongly suspected of being a thief and 
housebreaker, and even a highway robber by night — a 
combination of callings that was, however, scarcely likely 

330 



Conclusion 

to call for remark in those days of later medieval France. 
The Archbishop was not a man of much importance, 
and the same may be said of his see, which was 
situated in the Upper French Alps, but he happened 
to be a brother of the King's principal physician and 
was, thus, in the way of obtaining news of what was 
going on in Court circles. Of his remark it may be said 
that it is possible that he was only repeating what his 
brother had written to him, but it is significant that, 
if this were the case, the brother should have been in 
possession of such information. 

But the Provost of Pithiviers was intimate with 
the family of the Marquise de Vemeuil — the Balzac 
d'Entragues — and their Chateau de Malesherbes was 
but a short distance from the above town. He, there- 
fore, had probably been confided in as regards coming 
events, while, considering the reputation he " enjoyed," 
it is not impossible that he may have been asked to 
assist in whatever schemes might be afoot. In any case, 
he was arrested on account of the remark he had made, 
taken to Paris and thrust into prison to await his trial 
on the charge of knowing something in connection with 
the murder of the King ; but he escaped from this pro- 
ceeding by being found strangled in his cell.* 

The above are but two of the many remarkable 

* L'Estoile and Nicholas Pasquier both relate these incidents. 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

statements made by various persons, to which may be 
added another made by a priest of Douai, who, at the 
time of Henri's assassination, exclaimed : " At this 
moment the greatest monarch on earth is being slain." 
Yet Douai is in the north, and these three places are 
all widely apart. 

It is almost an insult to ask any person who has 
studied all the foregoing facts extracted from the best 
contemporary French sources, and from French sources 
alone, to say what they prove. We know that Spain and 
Austria — one by the same blood of their rulers, and in- 
divisible except by the territories that intervened 
between them — hated the Protestants and that branch 
of Protestantism which was termed the Huguenots, 
and hated also the only two really great rulers who 
were Protestants by birth, namely, the late Elizabeth of 
England and Henri. Against each of them innumerable 
open attacks had frequently been made (including the 
Armada against Elizabeth and the whole force of The 
League against Henri), while, in the form of secret 
attacks, the repetition would be wearisome. But, now, 
the power of the great house of Charles V. and of 
Philip n. was sinking rapidly, as was that of the great 
country ruled over by the Emperor Rudolph, while the 
fortunes of the house of Bourbon — which was in another 
hundred years to become the Royal Family of Spain and 

332 



Conclusion 

to continue so, with trifling intermissions, until this 
present day — had already risen. Henri had, since Eliza- 
beth's death, become the most powerful monarch in 
the world of that period ; he was able to crush all and 
every nation on the Continent which dared to contend 
against him ; even the Pope, supported as he might be 
by his faithful children, could easily be coerced into 
doing all that Henri should demand of him. Was it 
possible, therefore, that Philip III., weak, indolent, and 
almost beggared by his expulsion from Spain of the 
Moors, who were his best and richest subjects, both as 
traders and landowners, should not have hated Henri 
and all of Henri's following ? 

We have seen that Naples, one of Spain's brightest 
European possessions, was a nest wherein treason might 
be freely hatched ; the Netherlands, which Philip's great 
general, Spinola, had crushed beneath his feet, was 
another ; so, too, was Lorraine and so Franche-Comte. 
And, poor as Spain might be at this time in comparison 
with what she had been when possessed of the wealth 
which Pizarro had poured into her lap from Peru and 
Cortes from Mexico, she was still able to pay handsomely 
for services to her ; for services freely rendered in return 
for her gold by embittered and greedy men like 
d'Epemon, and by jealous, envenomed women like 
Henriette, Marquise de Vemeuil. 

333 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

But if anyone can still doubt that in Spain, in Naples, 
in Brussels, in the great superb mansions of the ancient 
nobility of The League ; in the houses of Henriette and 
of Mdlle. du Tillet — the one a faded, neglected mistress, 
the other a woman who, though not yet cast off by 
d'Epernon, was still bitter and disappointed that she 
had not been selected to fill the same laudable position 
to a higher than he, namely, his master — in the garrets 
of Paris and in the cellars beneath the houses of Paris, 
were sheltering either plotters or assassins a gages ready 
to murder the King — there are further proofs that must 
be considered almost indisputable. Before the death of 
Henri there were portraits of Louis XI IL prepared in 
which he was described beneath them as Roi de France ; 
portraits that were not hasty daubs, but copperplate 
engravings which could not have been made ready 
the moment after Henri was dead and sold three days 
after that, as was the case since L'Estoile bought one 
in the streets. It is, however, true that some who 
chanced to hear Ravaillac's frenzied pronouncements 
to kill the King, might have been induced to prepare 
such things with a view to obtaining a ready and profit- 
able sale for them; yet it is to be remembered that his 
miserable appearance, and his wandering words and 
wild looks, would have been far more likely to deter them 
from believing in him than to induce them to go to the 

334 




The Dauphin (Louis XIII.), 



[Fae'ng p. 335 



Conclusion 

expense of engraving the portrait of a boy who might 
not come to the throne for another twenty years, if ever, 
and who, if he did so, would then be a boy no longer, 
whereby the portrait would have become almost value- 
less. 

It is time to conclude, to sum up the case between 
those interested in a great historical drama, a romance 
of real fact, who still believe that Ravaillac was an 
assassin paid by d'Epernon to do his, and Spain's, foul 
work, and those who, after deep consideration and 
much inquiry, believe, as it has been endeavoured to 
show, that, although there was a plot, Ravaillac had 
nothing to do with it. His name has been handed down 
to posterity as one of the most vile assassins who ever 
polluted the earth ; yet, murderer though he was, he 
was, still, not that. In solemn truth, he was a poor 
visionary, a creature with terribly sickly tendencies 
towards, or, perhaps, emanating from, religious hysteria 
— a form of cerebral weakness more common to the 
female than to the male sex. Yet, combined with all 
this, he possessed manly virility and the power of 
strong endurance, as testified by the manner in which 
he supported poverty and misery, and by the determina- 
tion with which he made his journeys to and from Paris 
over roads unworthy of the name, and in weather that 
sometimes chilled him to the bone and sometimes almost 

335 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

broiled him. But he was no paid assassin and no 
plotter. To him, distracted though he was, d'fipemon 
would have appeared beneath contempt. He would 
have spumed an offer of payment for the deed he volun- 
tarily performed as a pious and holy one, as he would 
have spurned d'fipernon had he approached him, and 
had he known that the traitor was in the pay of Spain 
and was rewarded by either promises of wealth or 
Spanish honours ; and as he would have spurned the 
Marquise de Verneuil as a foul wanton who sold her 
caresses for money and then plotted to murder the man 
who paid the price for them. 

One thing has, however, to be said, which may appear 
extraordinary to m-^xiy, as, in truth, it is. The Church, 
the old, established Church, which was the bitter enemy 
of Henri, had no hand in Ravaillac's terrible resolution. 
When he wished to become an active member of it — ^a 
priest — they refused to admit him and drove him forth 
with contumely as a man unsuited to be one of its 
ministers. It may be, indeed, that they doubted if 
the half-crazed suppliant who saw visions and dreamed 
dreams, and did not fail to announce that he did so, 
was fitted to be a member of a community in which 
silence, self-control and caution are three of its most 
important requirements ; or if, when all the land was 
in a turmoil between their own faith and the growing 

336 



Conclusion 

strength of the Protestants, headed by the King, he 
would not be more of a curse to them than a blessing. 
But, whether this was so or not, the Church refused to 
accept him and, when his shocking deed was perpe- 
trated, it was also free of any participation in it. Alone, 
friendless, starving and roofless, Ravaillac did that 
which he believed the Almighty had sent him on this 
earth to do ; alone he did it without patron or associate, 
and alone he expiated his crime without any single 
person in all France being found who could be charged 
with him. 

But as concerns the plot which undoubtedly existed, 
can there be any doubt as to who was at the head of it ? 
Who but d'Epernon ordered the mysterious ruffians who 
suddenly appeared on the scene to refrain from touching 
Ravaillac, and to retire at once ; who exposed the murderer 
publicly to view at the Hotel Retz, and, afterwards, in 
his own family house, with the obj ect of his being ques- 
tioned as to his accomplices and of his being given the 
opportunity to reiterate again and again that he had 
none — but d'Epernon ? Who but d'Epernon, after 
ordering those unknown, would-be assassins — though 
not unknown to him ! — to retire instantly, made himself 
master of the situation, directed that the blinds of the 
carriage should be let down and the body of the King be 
transported to the Louvre, and then, springing on a 

337 22 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

horse, rode off to give the order for the city gates to 
be closed, and for the Hotel de Ville to be occupied 
by soldiers ; forbade communications to be permitted 
between the north and south banks of the Seine, and 
placed troops in every quarter of the city ? And who, 
after d'Epernon, was the person most embittered 
against Henri but the mistress who had once possessed 
a promise of marriage from him which had never been 
redeemed ; the mistress who had been forced to stand 
aside and see a lawful wife arrive to take the place she 
had once believed would be hers ; the mistress who had 
also seen Henri's furious passions so re-awakened that 
both she and that wife were to be swept aside together 
to make way for the gratification of the new love for a 
young and high-born princess of sixteen ? 

In almost every argument, every thesis, every dispute 
when fairly conducted, there is much reason on either 
side, though one side must finally preponderate over 
the other. Those, however, of our way of thinking 
believe that, in this matter, their side does preponderate. 
Facts tend more to prove the argument against Ravaillac 
being even known to the plotters than to prove the 
argument that he was known to them ; and no fact is 
stronger than that of his own denial combined with his 
madness, and, perhaps, above all, that of his poverty. 
On the other hand, nothing was more likely than that, 

338 



Conclusion 

since there was undoubtedly a plot — or many plots — to 
slay Henri, those who could not help but know of the 
last one, as most in Paris knew of it, as Henri himself 
knew of it or similar plots, should have associated the 
name of the actual murderer with the names of those 
who were, and always have been, accused of laying 
that plot. Here, therefore, is the origin of the error, an 
origin that owes the greater part of its existence to one 
of the most dramatic coincidences that has ever arisen in 
real life. Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas pere, even 
their clever predecessor, Pixerecourt, never devised a 
more dramatic denouement than that a gang of hired 
murderers should wait to slay a king at one end of a 
street, while, at the other end, the one by which the 
victim would enter that street, was a solitary man who 
not only performed the deed before them, but, in doing 
so, did their work and saved them and their employers 
from the crime and from, possibly, the punishment of 
that crime. 

For the crime was in the hearts and minds of em- 
ployers and employes ; the intention and the resolute 
determination of another who regarded himself, not as a 
murderer, but as an executioner of God's wrath, alone 
anticipated their foul designs. Chance, that marvellous 
factor in all human existences, spared d'Epernon and 
his companions the commission of one more sin in their 

339 22* 



The Fate of Henry of Navarre 

wicked lives. Ravaillac, the religious and visionary 
enthusiast, had done for them that which nothing else 
would have prevented them from doing for themselves — 
that which they had made all preparations for doing a 
few moments later, at the same hour, on the same day, 
in the same street — in gratification of their hate and 
spite and greed. 

Deeply steeped as their souls were in evil, they were 
at least saved from one farther blot by the act of a 
maniac who, shocking as his deed was, had, in all other 
respects, lived a blameless life ; a fanatic who went to 
his dreadful end free of any other crime than that deed 
to be charged against him at the Great Account. 



THE END 



340 



INDEX 



[References in brackets refer to the footnotes.] 



Achille et Procris, 72. 
Alagona, Le Pere, 276. 
; Aldobrandini, Cardinal, 89. 
Algiers, 285. 
Almanacks, 5. 
Almsgiving, 56. 
Alphie or Love's Jealousy, 72. 
Alps, Upper French, 331. 
Amiens, siege of , 35. 
Amsterdam, 143, I44- 
Angers, 144. 

Angouleme, 75, 169, 295. 
Angouleme Due d'. See d' Angou- 
leme, Due. 
Angoumois, 159. 
Angoumois, Governor of, 232. 
Anquetil, Thomas, (m}. 
Arger, 3. 

Armada, the, 165, 285. 
Arques, siege of, 165.- 
Artois, Province of, 13, 134- 
Arsenal, the, 4, 252. 
Assassins, 7, 8. 
Astr4e, 70. 
Aunis, 159. 
Aurora, 74. 

Austria, campaign against, 105, 329- 
Avertissements-Livrets, 78. 
Avis, ySt 

B 

Baron de Fceneste, 6$. 
Barriere, Pierre, 26^ , 



Basle, 49. 

Bassompierre, 12, 75, (79). ^°^' 

172, 175, 217-219. 
Bastille, the, 29, 34, (79)!- 
Bavaria, Duke of, 224. 
Baviere, Isabeau de, 18. 
Bearnais, the (Henri IV.);, 22, 23, 

24. 54- 
Beaufort, Duchesse de (Gabrielle 

d'Estrees], 10. 
Beaumont-les-Tours, abbey of, 

183. 
Belcastel, 213, 214. 
Bertrand de Ventadour, 73. 
Bethune, Maximilien de. See 

Sully. 
BibUotheque Nationale, 284. 
Biron, 274, 275. 
Blois, Chateau de, 106 
Bois de Boulogne, the, 30. 
Books, censorship and distribution 

of, 142-144. 
Bordeaux, Archbishop of, 162. 
Borgias, the, 87. 
Bouillon, Duo de, 14. 
Bourbon, Antoine de, 88, (97). 
Bourbons, 197. 
Bourg-en-Bresse, Governorship of, 

102. 
Bracciano, Duca di, 89. 
Brant6me, 75, 168. 
Brice, Germain, (79)- 
Brigandage, 50. 
Brignolles, 168. 



Index 



Brussels, 334. 

Bunel, 74. 

Bussy d'Amboise, duel of, 160. 

Butler, (78):. 



Calais, 147, 251. 

Calderon, 273, 285. 

Capello, Bianca di, 80, 81. 

Capets, the, 196. 

Carlos II., 238. 

Carpathian Mountains, the, 42. 

Carriage in which Henri met his 

death, 243. 
Castelnaudary, battle of, (97). 
Castille, 13. 
Catholics, the, 313. 
Cavendish, Lord, 148. 
Caxton, 142. 
Cayet, Palma, 135. 
Cenci, Beatrice, portrait of, {74)'. 
Cervantes, 285. 
C^sar-Monsieur, loi. 
Champs-Elysees, 29. 
Chantilly (Gentilly), 262. 
Chapman, George, 192. 
Charente, the department of, 232. 
Charenton, 6. 
Charles I. (England), 155. 
Charles V. (Spain), 332. 
Charles IX., 4, 26, 30, 84, 85, 174, 

196 ; Garde de Corps of, iii. 
Chartres, 266. 
Chateau de Blois, 170. 
Chatel, Jean, 3. 
Chatelet, 276. 

Chelles, Henriette, Abbess of, (97). 
Chemise sanglante de Henri-le- 

Grand, La, 209, 210. 
Christine, Princess, of Lorraine, 81, 

82, 83. 
Chronologic Sept^naire, 135. 



Church, the, guiltless of Henri's 

death, 336. 
Citadel, the, of Angouleme, 233. 
Clement, Jacques, 291. 
Cleves, WiUiam, Duke of, (88). 
Clorinde, 89. 

Coaches, so-called, 31, 32. 
College de Bourgogne, no. 
Comedians, 63. 
Commeniaires, Marechal de Mont- 

luc's, 44. 
Conciergerie, the, 258, 279, 301, 

303. 
Concini, Concino, 5, 8, 90, 91, 

106, 149, (15s). 
Conde, 147. 
Corbais, 214. 
Cortes, 333. 

Coryate, The Crudities oi, 64. 
Cotton, the Jesuit, 267, 268, 269. 
Cours la Reine, 29. 
Coutras, 162. 
Croix du Tiroir, La, 243. 
Cromwell, 155. 
Curse of France, the, {77). 



D'Albret, Jeanne, 195. 
D'Alen9on, Due, 196. 
Damiens, 322. 
D'Aubigne, Le Fere, 268. 
D'Aubigne, Theodore Agrippa, 65, 

74 ; works of, 76, 135, 136, 254. 
D'Aumale, Due, paper of the, 

207-208, 209.- 
D'Aumont, Marshal, 164. 
Dauphin, character of the, (97). 
D'Autriche, Cardinal, 35. 
D'Auvergne, Comte, 182. 
De Balzac d'Entragues, Fran9ois, 

174. 
De Baviere, Isabeau, 18. 



342 



Index 



De Bellegarde, Due, 115, 136. 

De Biron, Marshal, 164. 

De Blosseville, 73. 

De Bouillon, Due, 173, 209 ; 

Marechal de, M^moires, (169). 
De Bury, (169). 
De Chambert, Comte, 263. 
De Cherverny, 75. 
De Coeuvres, Marquis, 221. 
De Conde, Princesse, 288. 
De Gaillon, Chateau, 16. 
De Gournay, Mdlle., 263. 
De Guiehe, Diane, Comtesse 

(" Corisande"), 214. 
De Guise, Cardinal, 55. 
De Guise, Due, the young, 166, 258. 
De Guise, family of, 77. 
De Guise, Fran9ois, Due, 228. 
De Guise, Mdlle, romanees of, 136, 

254- 
De Harlay, 260, 271. 
De la Bourdaisiere, Fran9oise 

Babou, 113. 
De la Foree, Marquis, 235, 243, 245, 

246, 316. 
De la Tremouille, Charlotte, 213 ; 

Due, 14. 
De Lamballe, Princesse, (155). 
De la Valette, Marquis, 171. See 

d'Epernon. 
De Lavardin, 243, 245. 
De L'Eeluse, Abbe, 145. 
De Lerma, Due, 276. 
De Lianeourt, M., 243. 
Delille, (73J. 
Delisle, Jean, 4. 

De Livry (De Lizza), Abbe, (91). 
De Lominee, 73. 
De Luynes, (156), 170, 171. 
De Luxembourg, Princesse, 19. 
De Maintenon, Madame, (65), y6, 

(135)- 
De Malesherbes, Chateau, 331. 



De Mayenne, 36, (77}, 165. 

De Medici, Catherine, 196, 197. 

De Medici, Don Jean, (92). 

De Medici, Ferdinand, 81-83. 

De Medici, Francis II., 80. 

De Medici, Marie {see also Marie 
DE Medici), 157, 167, 170, 224, 
225, 226, 227, 242, 250, 252, 
254, 286-288, 310. 

De Mercoeur, Due, 36. 

De Mirabeau, Marquis, 243. 

De Montbazon, Due, 27, 243, 245. 

De Montglat, Madame, {97)". 

De Montmorency, Charlotte, 212, 
217-222. See also De Conde, 
Princesse. 

De Nemours, Duehesse, 179. 

Denmark, king of, 239. 

De Nevers, Due, 216, 298. 

De Nogaret, Jean Louis, 159. See 
d'Epernon. 

D'Entragues, Balzac, 260, 331. 

D'Entragues, Henriette, created 
Marquise de Verneuil, 178 ; 
children of, 2, 85, 149 ; insults 
Marie de Medici, 178-180 ; sells 
to Henri his written promise of 
marriage, 181; plots with father 
and half-brother to kill Henri and 
the Dauphin 182 ; high-feeding 
of, 184, 258, 271, 286 ; probable 
complicity of in later plot against 
Henri's life, 286-288, 290, 292 ; 
different spellings of name, (173}. 

D'^Epernon (Jean Louis de Nogaret, 
De la ValetteJ, Due, 15, 36, 117, 
147; title of, 159, 161; early 
status of, 160 ; character of, 8, 
161 -162 ; reasons for his hatred 
against Henri, 167 ; book and 
play about, 168, 189, 192 ; 
truculent conduct of, 200; 243- 
248, 250, 258, 264, 265, 266, 



343 



Index 



D'Epernon, Due — continued. 

271 ; early history of, 290-291 ; 
Henri's distrust of, 292 ; ac- 
quitted by Court of Enquiry, 
309 ; death of, 192. 

De Poitiers, Diane, 27. 

De Riqueti, or Riquetti, Marquis, 
(243). See MiRABEAU. 

De Rohan, Due, 238. 

De Romorentin, Comtesse, {97). 

De Roquelaure, 243, 245. 

De Rosny, Baron, 9, 134 ; Marquis, 
238 ; {see also Sully)' ; La 
Baronne, 124. 

De Rosny, Chateau, 135. 

De Sancy, 75. 

De Scudery, Mdlle., 273. 

De Soissons, Comte, 244, 245. 

De Sourdis, Mdme, 121. 

Des Essarts, Charlotte, 55. 

Des Reaux, Tallemant, 116, (184). 

D'Estrees, Gabrielle, 5 ; death of, 
9, 10, II, 19, 27, 85, 121, 
122, 131 ; Henri's extravagance 
on, 46-47, 1 1 3-1 14; formal 
marriage of, 114; haughtiness of, 
118, 120, 121 ; created Duchesse 
de Beaufort, 117 ; lying-in-state 
of, 123. 

De Thou, 12, (74). 

De Valois. See Marguerite de 
Valois. 

De Varennes, Isaac, 204. 

De Vaudemont, Prince, 82. 

De Vega, Lope, 273, 285. 

De Vend6me, Due, 5, 19, loi, 103, 
118. 

De Ventadour, 73. 

De Vic, 251. 

De Villeroy, 277. 

Discours, 78. 

Doctors, red lamps of, 33. 

" Don Quixote," 285. 



D'Orleans, Louis, 27. 
Douai, a priest of, 332. 
Drake, 285. 
Drama, 69-73. 
Dreux de Radier, (79J. 
Du Barry, Madame, 117. 
Dubois, Ambroise, 74. 
Dubreuil, Toussaint, 74. 
Du Breuil, Jacqueline, (97). 
Duelling, 48, 49, 51, 52. 
Dujardin, Pierre, 274, 275. 
Du Jou (La Garde), 251. 
Dulaure, (79). 

Dumoutier, the brothers, 74. 
Du Plessis-Mornay, Madame, 

75. 76, 138- 
Du Tillet, Mdlle., 260, 261, 264, 

293. 300. 312, 313, 334. 
D'Urfe, Honore, 70. 



74. 



147. 



330, 



Ecce Homo, the, 74. 

Ecclesiastics, morality of French, 

55 ; as fighting men, 35. 
Elizabeth, or " Isabella," wife of 

Philip IV., 21. 
Elizabeth, Queen, 17, 52, 

150, 165, 166, 285 , 333. 
Embrun, the Archbishop of, 

331- 
England, 147-148, 160, 182. 
Enquiry, Court of, 309. 
Epernon, d'. See d'Epernon, 

Due. 
Estrees, Gabrielle d'. See d' 

EsTRBES, Gabrielle. 
Etampes, 237. 
Etats-Generaux, 105, 200, 201, 

279. 
Eve, St. Bartholomew's. See St. 

Bartholomew's Eve. 
Eves, Ember, 39. 

344 



Index 



Farnese, Prince of Parma, 82. 
Felibien, Dom, (79). 
Ferdinand the Catholic, 13. 
Ferrara, Duke of, 82. 
FeudaHsm, decay of, 154. 
Flanders, 13. 
Florence, 190. 

Foire St. Germain, La, 42-46. 
Fontainebleau, 179, 266, 269, 270. 
Fontenay, Mareuil, (250). 
Fontenelle, Baron de, 50. 
Fontevrault, Jeanne, Abbess of; 

(97l- 
Forest of Bondy, 159. 
Fountains erected by Henri, 58-60 
France, state of religion in, 54 

archives and trials of, 257. 
Franche-Comte, 167, 333. 
Francis I., 22, (88). 
Francis II., 30, 196. 
Frankfort, fair at, 5. 
Freminet, Martin, 74. 
Frobisher, 285. 
Fust, 142. 



G 

Gabrielle d'Estrbes. See 

d'Estrbes, Gabrielle. 
Gaillon, Chateau de, 16. 
Galerie de I'ancienne Cour, (156)'. 
Galiga'i, Leonora, 5, 90, 91, 225. 
Garde de Corps, 133. 
Gaston, Duke of Orleans, 21. 
Gelastide La (novel by Sully), 146. 
Geneva, 76. 

Gerard, Balthazar, 194. 
Germany, Emperor of, 224. 
Gondi, Cardinal, 84. 
Gondier, 258, 259. 
Groulart, 75. 



Guienne, d'Epernon's governor- 
ship of, 162. 

Guise, Princesse de. See De 
Guise, Princesse. 

Guizot, a quotation from, 72. 

Gutenberg, 142. 

H 

Hague, the, 143. 
Hardy, Alexandre, 72, (73). 
Hawkins, 285. 
Henri. See Henry IV. 
, Henriade, Voltaire's La, 68. 

Henries, the, their tragic deaths, 

(41). 
Henriette-Marie, wife of Charles I. 
; of England, 21. 

Henry Frederick, Prince of Wales, 

239- 

Henry II. de Bourbon, Prince de 
Conde, 213, 214-215. 

Henry III., his assassination, 4, 5, 
25. 30, (41), 47 ; attempts on his 
life, 40 ; poverty of, (84) ; his 
illegitimate brother, 102, 160, 
191, 196, 247 ; his degrading 
habits, 291. 

Henry III., Prince de Conde, 215, 
216. 

Henry IV. (Henri), his ten 
" wishes," 12-16 ; second change 
of religion, 24, 25 ; first attempt 
to assassinate him, 26 ; a fatalist, 
40, 41 ; his early poverty, 47- 
48 ; his benefactions to Paris, 
59, 60 ; his slovenly apparel, 
66 ; his bonhomie, 66-67 '< ^^^ 
reckless gambling, 46 ; his bad 
French accent, 66 ; his enormous 
appetite 67 ; his education, 67, 
68 ; his religion, 68, 69 ; his 
claims to be a poet, j-^ ; amount 

345 



Index 



Henry IV. — continued. 

of his loans, {84) ; his social 
qualities, 95 ; his mistresses and 
their children, (97 J ; his perilous 
visit to Gabrielle, 116; fore- 
tells his death, 199 ; late- 
found affection for his wife, 
241 ; and solicitude for her 
future, 239-240 ; his assassina- 
tion, 134, 245 ; public mourning 
for, 250-252, 291 ; his historians, 
(74), 76 ; his murder planned 
by d'i^pernon and Henriette, 
337-338. 

Henry V. of England, 53. 

Herrera, Francesco, 74. 

Histoire de Bayard, 44. 

Histoire G^n&ale des Larvons, 44, 

45- 
Holland, 143. 
Holy See, 238. 
Hotel de Bourgogne, 71 ; comedians 

of the, 64. 
H6tel de Retz, 248. 
H6tel de Ville, 325, 338. 
Hotel Dieu, 270. 
Howard, John, (303). 
Huguenots, the, 12, 14, 135, 313. 
Hungary, 277, 301. 

I 

Inquisition, the poet of the, 285. 

Italy, 296. 

Ivry, battle of, 105, 165. 



Jacqueline le Voyer. See La 
CoMANs and d'Escoman ; her 
imprisonment, 256. 

James I., 17, 147, 182, 194, 239, 285. 

" Jean Sans Peur," Due de Bour- 
gogne, 27, 28. 



Jeanne of Austria, 80. 

Jesuits, the, 189, 268, 308. 

Joan of Arc, 54. 

Journal de Henri IV., L'Estoile's, 

(79). 
Joyeuse, mignon, 169. 

K 

Kitchen, Dean, 250. 



La Belle Corisande, 214. 

La Brosse, 5. 

La Comans [see also d'Escoman 
and Jacqueline le VoyerJ, 
204-207, 210, 285-287 ; punish- 
ment of, and supposed escape 
from prison, 305 ; her statements 
burnt, 272, 306. 

" La corde est rompue," doubtful 
meaning of, 125-134. 

La Curee, 75. 

La Decade, 135. 

La Ferronnerie, rue de, 244. 

La Fleche, the abbey of, 238, 255. 

La Fontaine et Pompe de la Samari- 
taine, 59. 

La Force, Marquis of, 238, 316. 

La Galigai, (is6J. 

La Garde {also Dujardin, Pierre), 
statement of, 275-278 ; trial 
and imprisonment of, 279, 280 ; 
second imprisonment of, 281 ; 
pension of, 282 ; origin of, 284, 
286, 292, 294, 296, 297, 298, 
299. 

La grosse banquiere (Marie de Me- 
dici), 289. 

La Henriade, Voltaire's, i[68|. 

La Hogue, French navy defeated 

at, 155. 
La mere Dasithee, 5, (212). 



346 



Index 



La Rochelle, 159. 

La Varenne, 133, 134, 137, 138, (139]. 

Lagrange-Santerre, M. de, 50. 

Langlot-du-Fresnoy, 305. 

Le Chatelet, 270. 

Le Chien de Monmrgis, 159. 

Le Jeay, President, 251. 

Le Marchant, Capitaine, 251. 

Le Voyer, Jacqueline. See La 

COMANS. 

League, the, 3, 7, 15, 53, 117, 165, 

167, 291, 334. 
Leaguers, the old, 274, 313. 
Lebeuf, (79). 
Legrain, 74, 135. 
Lepanto, battle of, 285. 
Les Feuillants, 229. 
Les Filles ripenties, prison of, 272. 
Les Halles, 140. 
Les Innocents, church of, 244. 
Les Quatre Coins, 252. 
Lesdiguieres, 239. 
Les Princes de Cond^, (217). 
L'Estoile, 63, 75, 79, 135, 136, 144, 

(169), 206, 267, 318, 331. 
Lever et coucher, 124. 
Ligny, 172. 
Limousin, 117, 159. 
Lintlaer, Jean, 59. 
Loches, 159, 169. 
Lomenie, 268. 
Lorraine, 333 ; house of, 82 ; 

Princesse de, 18, 81. 
Louis le DSonnaire, 53. 
Louis XL, 321. 
Louis XIII., 21, 30, 69, 79, 145, 

151, 154, 155, 162, 262, 307 ; 

prudery and misogyny of, 23-24 ; 

cognizant of Concini's murder, 

(155) ; engravings of, 334. 
Louis XIV., birth of, 154 ; attitude 

of towards his people, 66 ; as 

gourmand, 67 ; Le Roi Soleil, 22. 



Louis XV., 117 ; stabbing of, 322. 
Louise, Queen, sister of, 191. 
Louvre, the, 30, 31, 34, 242, 244, 

247, 252, 266. 
Lu9on, Bishop of (Richelieu), 154. 
Luxembourg, Princesse de, 19. 
Lyons, 178. 

M 

Maitresses-en-titre, 117, 156, 157. 

Malherbe, 73. 

Marais, the, 28. 

Marbault, (no), 138, 139. 

Marguerite de Valois, 13, 16, 17, 21, 
118, 119, 140; almsgivings of, 
56, 257 ; divorce of, 175, 195, 
198, 271. 

Marie de Medici, 3, 18 ; children of, 
21, 86; visits a monster, 64; 
Henri's confession to, 69 ; nego- 
tiations for marriage of, 80, 81 ; 
dowry, 85 ; her ignorance of 
French, 89-90 ; triumphant 
journey to Paris, 190 ; disposi- 
tion of, 91, 92 ; matrimonial 
squabbles, 93-95 ; hostility to 
Henriette, 96 ; plastic nature of, 
103 ; consecration as queen, 104- 
105 ; investments abroad, 106, 
107 ; imprisonment, 170 ; posi- 
tion as Queen-Regent, 311, 312 ; 
flight to Cologne, 107 ; left to 
perish in want, 108 ; demands 
coronation, 195, 199, (202). 

Marmoutier, abbey of, 102. 

Marseilles, 274. 

Martin le Franc, 73. 

Mary, Queen of Scots, 196. 

Masks, wearing of, 61, 62. 

Matthieu, 74, 90, 273. 

Maugiron, 169. 

Maurice, Prince, 239 ; sisters of, 18, 
19. 



347 



Index 



Maximilian II., 196. 

Mayenne, Due de, daughters of, 18. 

Medici, Don Jean de, (92). 

Medici, Francis II. de, 80. 

Metz, 297, 299 ; Bishop of, 2 ; 

Governor of, 117. 
Mercure Francois, Le, 63, 261, 262. 

264, 304. 
Mexico, 333. 
Mezieres, 278, 298. 
Michelet, M., 210, (258J. 
Mignonne des Rois, La, (88). 
Mignons, character of the, 160 ; 

principal, 169, 247, 291. 
Milan, 190. 
Mirabeau, 245. 
Monglat, Mdme. de, (97). 
Montaigne, adopted daughter of, 

263. 
Montbazon, 245. 
Montmartre, the church of, 31 ; 

abbess of, 115. 
Monfres-horloges, 61. 
Moreri, Grand Dictionnaire His- 

torique, 255, 330* 
Moret, (97). 
Mounting-block, 244. 
Mourning customs, 253-254, 

N 

Naples, 190, 224, 274, 293, 297, 

300, 307, 313, 334. 
Nassau, Prince Maurice of, 239. 
Navarre, 7, 13, 193 ; Henri d'Albret, 

King of, (88]. 
Navy, the French, 155. 
Neapolitans, the 274. 
Netherlands, the, 17, 117, 167, 333. 
Newspapers, French, 63, 64, 141, 

See also Mercure FRAN501S, 

Le. 
Nobility, insolence and brutality of, 

37, 38 ; kindness of, 38, 39. 



Normandy, 159. 

Norway, 42. 

Notre Dame, church of, 325. 

o 

CEconomies Roy ales, 9, 132, 136, 

140, 141, 144, 145, 158, 
Oliva, or Olive, 5. 
Orfin, 204. 
Orleans, Louis d', murder of, 27. 



Parfaict, les Freres, (72). 

Paris, " worth a Mass, 62 ; in 
reign of Henri IV., 26-33 '< 
quays of, 60 ; census of, 63 ; 
Pre aux Clercs, 51 ; Place de 
Greve, 50 ; Place Royale, 27, 
60 ; Pont Neuf, 59 ; Place 
Dauphine, 60. 

Pasquier, Nicholas, 331. 

Patache, 57. 

Pembroke, Earl of, 148. 

Perefixe, Archbishop of Paris, 

(195). 
Perfumes, abuse of, 65. 
Picardy, 219. 
Piedmont, Victor Amadeus, Prince 

of, 21. 
Pigeons, Les Trois, tavern of, (296). 
Philip II. (Spain), 14, 166, 195, 332. 
Philip III. (Spain), 223, 276, 333. 
Philip IV. (Spain), 21. 
Pithiviers, the Provost of, 330, 331. 
Pitti Palace, 89. 
Pixerecourt, M., 159, 339. 
Pizarro, 333. 
Place de Greve, 325. 
Poirson, M. Auguste, his Histoire 

du Regne de Henri IV., 284. 
Poland, 277, 301 ; king of, 196. 
Poltrot, 228. 



348 



Index 



Pope, the lo, 20, 118, 119, 222, 

238, 333- 
Portugal, 155, 185. 
Powder, hair, 61. 
Prince of Orange, 166. 
Printing, liberty of, (78). 
Protestants, 313, 337. 
Protestantism, spread of, 52. 
Provence, 166. 



QuARTiER St. Germain, 28, 29. 
Quelus (mignon), 169. 

R 

Rabutin, Bussy, 52. 

Raleigh, 285. 

Ramee, D. (32). 

Ravaillac, Frangois, 4, 5 ; uncon- 
nected with plot against Henry 
IV., 20, 309 ; his poverty, 188 ; 
humble birth of, 227-231 ; long 
journeys on foot, 295 ; discre- 
pancy in evidence as to dress, 
294, 313 ; his published statement 
a fabrication, 318, 319; torture 
and death, 320-328 ; rumours 
after his death, 328 ; character 
of, 190, 198, 209, 210, 232-238, 
240-247, 255, 260, 263, 265, 266, 
276, 287, 293, 298-304, 335, 339, 
340, 356. 

Ravaison, (207). 

Reformation, the, 14, 53. 

Regiments, territorial, 154. 

Reni, Guido, 74. 

Rennes, 16. 

Revolution, the, (156), 255. 

Rheims, cathedral of, 53. 

Richelieu, Cardinal, 63, 79, 96, 106, 
141, 14s, 153, 154, 191, 252, 261. 

Ridicovi, 3. 

Robberies, highway, 49. 



Rome, 277 ; French Ambassador at, 

307. 
Rosny, Baron de. See Sully. 
Rosny, Chateau de, 135. 
Rouen, Archbishop of, 102. 
Rubens, 74, 170. 
Ruccela'i, Abbe, 171 -17 3. 
Rudolph, the Emperor, 332. 
Rue Dauphine, 60. 
Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, 27, 28. 
Rue St. Honore, 244, 251. 
Russell, 155. 



St. Bartholomew's Eve, 6, 7, 25, 

26, 34, 87, (156), 196. 
St. Denis, 26, 104, 255. 
St. Germain I'Auxerrois, church of, 

31, 34 ; deanery of, 133. 
St. Jean-en-Greve, church of, 262, 

292. 
St. Mercier, L., (79). 
Saint-Mesgrin, 169. 
St. Nicholas-des-Champs, Vicar of, 

3- 
St. Roch, church of, (296). 
St. Simon, 30, (yj). 
St. Victor, church of, 257. 
St. Vincent de Paul, 55, 56. 
Saintonge, 159. 
Salamander, The, 244. 
Sancy, Baron de, 49. 
Satirists, {77}. 
Sauval, Henri, (79). 
Savoy, Duke of, 21, 153, 178. 
Scaliger, the younger, 67. 
SepUnaire, (141). 
Servin, Monsieur, 36, 37. 
Shakespeare, 273, 
Sicilian Vespers, iii. 
Sieur d'Escoman, or Comans, 204. 
Smith, Captain John, 285. 



349 



Index 



Society of Jesus {see also Jesuits), 
230. 

Soldat Frafifois, Le, 78. 

Spain incorporates part of Navarre, 
13 ; Infanta of, 17 ; employs 
assassins, 166, 190 ; war against 
declared by Henri, 222, 242, 
263, 266, 268, 285, 329 ; ruined 
finances of, 223, 334 ; the 
Moors of, 333. 

Spanish Armada, 166. 

Spectacles, worn by Henri, 60. 

Spinola, 333. 

Star Chamber, 155. 

Stuart, Arabella, 17. 

Sully, Due de (Maximilien de Be- 
thune, Baron de Rosny, Marshal 
of France), official residence of, 
4, 9, II, 19; as memoir-writer, 
75, 137; descent of, 109-110; 
escape from massacre, iio-iii ; 
at battle of Ivry, 111-112 ; sus- 
pected of causing Gabrielle's 
death, 112, 122-130, 134; estates 
of, 14s ; embassy to England, 
147 ; dress and conduct of, 150- 
151 ; wealth of, 152, 153 ; death 
of, 1 54 ; request to from Henri, 
242; loyalty of, 157-158 ; tomb 
to, erected by his widow, 157. 

Sweden, 42 ; King of, 239. 

Swiss Guard, 49. 



Touchet, Marie, 174. 
Toulouse, Archbishop of, 171. 
Tour de Nesle, horrors of, 29. 
Tours, Archbishopric of, 102. 
Troyes, 53. 

Tuileries, menagerie in, 64. 
Turkey, 274. 
Turks, the 14, 274. 
Tuscany, Grand Duke of, 18. 



Valois, race of, 196, 292, 
Vari^t^s Biographiques, Edouard 

Tricotel's, 91. 
Velasquez, 74. 
Verneuil, Due de, 2. 
Verneuil, Marquise de. See D'En- 

TRAGUES, HeNRIETTE. 

Versailles, 30. 

Viceroy, the Spanish, 78, 274, 275. 

Villebon, Chateau de, 152, 157. 

Villenage, 38, 154. 

Villeroy, 78, 160. 

Vincent de Paul, Saint, 55. 

Vitry, 155, 252. 

Voltaire, 68, 173, 191. 

w 

Walpole, Horace, no. 
Watches, 61. 
William the Silent, 194. 
Wynds, Scotch, 33. 



TaLLEMANT DBS REAUX. 

Rbaux, Tallemant. 
Toledo, 42, 285. 



See DEs Zamet, 114, 121, 122, 124., 131, 132, 

133. 135. 307- 
Zamet's brother, 277. 



Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey. 



Short Extracts from some Press Opinions 

of 

MR* BLOUNDELLE-BURTON'S 
HISTORICAL ROMANCES. 

In the Day of Adversity. " In his previous works Mr. Bloundelle- 
Burton gave evidence which entitled him to a very prominent place among 
the writers of his class, and now, at another bound, he has leaped into the 
foremost rank. ' ' — Si. James's Gazette. 

Servants of Sin. "It is a capital story. Mr. Bloundelle-Burton 
makes effective use of the bursting of the Mississippi bubble, the kidnap- 
ping of victims for the Colony of Louisiana, of the chain-gangs of 
helpless captives that trod the weary road to Marseilles, and of the 
horrors of the pestilence that depopulated the city." — The Times. 

The Year One. "The means the heroine adopts for the rescue of 
the hero (from La Force) are cleverly and not unnaturally described. 
She rallies with the heroic spirit of her ancient race, lets blood-stained 
ruffians make warm love to her ; she dances the Carmagnole and 
insinuates herself into the prison where her lover is confined, and these 
superhuman feats are crowned with success." — The Times. 

Fortune's my Foe. " Such a picture of the time has rarely been 
given. A spirited tale of 'The Great 59.'"— T^^ World. "Equal to 
anything that Marryat ever wrote." — Daily Mail. ' 

The Desert Ship. " It is an enthralling story. It is as exciting as 
anything Verne ever wrote, and with the reality of Robert Louis 
Stevenson. " — Truth. 

The Land of Bondage. "There may be a better story somewhere 
about, but up to the present it has not been the Baron's good fortune 
to come across it." — Punch. 

The Last of Her Race. "Written with all Mr. Bloundelle-Burton's 
usual skill in handling historical subjects."— ^weew. "The story is 



SHORT EXTRACTS FROM PRESS OPINIONS— confinued 

admirably constructed." — Athenaum. "Mr. Bloundelle-Burton knows 
history, war, local colour ; and he knows how to tell ©f womanly sacrifice. 
It is as thrilling and picturesque as anything Dumas ever invented." — 
The Guardian. 

Within Four Walls (founded on the adventures of La Comans, as 
described in " The Fate of Henry of -Navarre "). " Historical romance as 
written by Mr. J. Bloundelle-Burton — who is now its leading exponent in 
this country — has had no finer example than 'Within Four Walls.'" — 
Manchester Courier. " Quite in Mr. Bloundelle-Burton's best style." — 
Pall Mall Gazette. "Mr. Bloundelle-Burton is especially to be congratu- 
lated on his portrait of Marguerite de Valois grown old with sin and 
disease." — The Standard. "No writer of elementary popular fiction 
knows better than Mr. Bloundelle-Burton how to ring the changes upon 
this age-old chime (romance)." — Daily Telegraph. 

The King's Mignon. "The author possesses an expert knowledge 
of French history from the sixteenth century down to the French 
Revolution." — Westminster Review. "An excellent story, with at least 
one chapter that proves Mr. Bloundelle-Burton one of our soundest and 
most eloquent historical romancers." — The Standard. "No man has 
ever written fiction based on French history with truer knowledge of the 
meaning of that history than Mr. Bloundelle-Burton." — Navy and Army. 

A Fair Martyr. "Mr. Bloundelle-Burton has long ago shown his 
ounning in the devising of historical fiction and his knowledge of French 
history. A well-handled romance." — TheTimes. " This successful author, 
in his latest book, returns to France, the scene of former triumphs. It is 
a novel written by an adept, gifted with imagination and constructive 
power." — Scotsman. "Mr. Bloundelle-Burton's knowledge of the 
historical events he deals with, and of the conditions of those times, adds 
power and value to his work." — Country Life. 



